


Eve of the End

by LovelyLogic



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Angst, Crime, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4785050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLogic/pseuds/LovelyLogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People will fight with everything they have to stop themselves from being brought to their knees. It takes someone to erode whatever values they have, whatever god they believe in for them to fall like dominoes in a neat row. That's what this story is about—the girl who became a domino.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ava

The bluish-black clouds in the sky hid the stark white moon and sent droplets of rain to the city below. Here, in Blüdhaven, a neon playground danced, the reflections from gaudy street signs pooling in small puddles of fresh rain. Most passerby hustled quickly along the sidewalks, reluctantly curtailing their night plans, not wanting to be wet by the weather.

But not everyone got to spend this rainy night curled up on a warm couch as they watched the storm from their windows. Some were homeless and had nowhere to call home; some had homes so unwelcoming that no one would want to stay for long. Others still, like Ava Madden, frittered the night's hours away at her office desk, hunched over a laptop.

Her fingers moved slowly over the keyboard and she took a long swig from her mug filled with hours-old coffee. Looking at the time on her computer's screen, she let out a heavy sigh as it read an unwavering 8:00.

_Just one more hour,_ she thought wearily, running a hand through her thick curls.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed her chair away from the desk and stood up. Walking past a row of darkened, empty cubicles, she made her way through the dim hallway to the only fully lit room on the floor.

"Mr. Harding, I finished the restaurant sanitation piece. I'll send it to you. Anything else you need me to do for tomorrow's issue?" said Ava, standing in the doorway of her boss's office.

He looked up, looking just as frazzled as she did. Daniel Harding had worked as a Senior Editor for twenty-five years, and each of them manifested as small lines and creases on his face. Dark bags ringed his eyes, and his once-tied tie now sat crumpled in a small pile on a nearby chair.

"No," replied the man, leaning back in his seat. "I had the opportunity to read it earlier this morning, and it's pretty good. You made cafe dishwashers sound as big as the discovery of the atom bomb…I like it. Keep that up and you'll be working the  
big stories soon."

Ava lit at his comment, smiling through her  exhaustion. She had been working at _The Blüd Sun_ , Blüdhaven's premier newspaper, for two years, and still had not gotten an assignment beyond a human interest story. The first year was spent as the office 'go fer', and she ran pointless errands for the editors most of the days. Only six months ago, when she was promoted to Junior Analyst, did she gain the ability to demonstrate what four years and a Journalism degree from New York University could do for the _Sun_.

"Thank you, sir." sighed Ava, a yawn suddenly seizing her. Mouth widening, she did her best to control the fatigue that painted the world around her a dull gray.

Harding eyed her knowingly, fully aware that the young woman needed rest. Her hair was disheveled, and from the slight shaking in her hands, she had consumed at least five cups of strong coffee that day. "Go home kid, you look like hell."

Ava shook her head 'no', wiping her bleary eyes.

"I just want to get one more story in," she muttered, eyes widening in an attempt to appear awake, "Then I'll go. Do you have another interest topic?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harding observed her with incredulous amusement. She was determined, and he wished that some of his senior employees took the same initiative as she did.

Many of them were content to come in at nine and leave exactly at five, without any regard for the daily deadlines the paper faced. Besides that, their writing had little of the emotion and quality that he had seen in Ava's articles.

He shuffled through the medley of papers on his desk, searching for something to give her.

Unfortunately for the local newspapers, things in Blüdhaven had been slow the last few weeks. Aside from the usual murders, scandals and robberies that were rampant in the city, nothing of true interest had taken place forcing the _Sun_ to cover big stories in neighboring cities like Gotham.

It was such a cesspool of filth and sin that the news seemed to perpetuate itself. The latest attraction there was the District Attorney campaign season that was beginning on Monday. Aside from being a source of hope in the midst of all the negative news, the candidates themselves were quite interesting.

Harding stared at the assignment, almost tempted to give it to her. But he had already charged the task to one of his Senior Analysts.

"Sorry, I don't have anything else for you. I'd give you your first out-of-city, but I already assigned the job to Mitch."

Ava's face fell slightly, and she fought to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she spoke.

"Alright, thanks anyway. I guess I'll just go home." she declared, deflated.

"You should; it's been a long day." started Harding, gathering his own belongings and making ready to depart. "I'll let you know if anything comes up."

"Goodnight Mr. Harding." said Ava, turning to leave.

"Night Ava. And go have some fun, eh? It's Saturday for God's sakes."

Laughing softly, she nodded, and left the room.

Stepping into the elevator, she shifted tiredly from foot to foot, waiting to reach the ground floor. She had been at the _Sun_ since six that morning, working through both lunch and her scheduled breaks.

In total, she had finished three stories for Sunday's paper, each taking her at least two hours to write. That didn't even take into account the four days she had spent amassing information in several interviews.

It had been a long week, and as Ava stepped out of the red brick _Blüd Sun_ tower into the cold damp evening, it became even longer.

_Great,_ she thought, glaring at the sky in annoyance as the rain hit her face. _Ju_ _st what I needed._ She raised the hood of her gray sweatshirt and set to flagging a cab. The _last_ thing she wanted to do was walk four blocks to the nearest subway station in the pouring rain. A good minute elapsed before a passing yellow cab slowed down.

Ava hurriedly got in, slamming the door behind her. Setting her purse down and leaning her head on a headrest, she mumbled, giving the driver a heading.

"67 Samson Boulevard." she called, her head lolling.

"You got it." answered the heavy-set man at the wheel.

Looking out the window, she watched as the drenched gargoyle-adorned buildings of the city's Art District morphed into slick, towering structures of the Financial District. They became blurs as the taxi drove her home, and she began to think of all the things she would do once she got there.

_Maybe I'll watch a movie and order some Chinese food._ The thought garnered a smirk from her and she reached into her purse, fishing her keys and wallet from it. The cab weaved in and out of congested downtown traffic, heading toward a fully-illuminated bridge that stretched on the horizon.

Turning a corner at a green light, the taxi descended below the Tomlinson Bridge, high-rises slowly giving way to a modest residential sector.

Instead of glaring advertisements and billboards that were common in the commercial part of the city, bodegas and ethnic restaurants dotted the streets. Far fewer people roamed about here, and rightly so. Harem Cove, as this part of Blüdhaven was known, was not particularly dangerous, but not particularly safe either. Almost thirty years ago, it had been Blüdhaven's drug trafficking hub, and housed some of the city's most vicious gangs.

Since then, the Cove had cleaned up considerably, its once-run-down buildings remodeled into apartment complexes. Still, remnants of old gangs and rumors of new ones kept everyone from roaming around too late at night.

Ava glanced at the meter and readied her fare, the taxi now nearing her home. It approached, a tall brownstone with narrow entry steps and wrought-iron railings.

As the cab eased to a stop, she grabbed her purse and got out, handing the driver the ten dollars she owed him. Cautiously looking from side to side, she made sure that no one was watching her and buzzed into the building.

Squeezing through the small entryway, Ava hiked up the winding staircase that ascended each floor to the top.

_One, two, three_. she counted as she rounded each floor. Ignoring the musty smell of the faded yellow wallpaper and creaking of the steps, she continued.

_Four._

Passing the floor before hers, Ava caught sight of two men skulking in the corner of a corridor, money slipping between their hands. She quickly averted her eyes, careful not to appear interested in their dealings.

Stepping into the hallway of the fifth floor, she walked down three doors and turned her key until the lock to her apartment clicked. Walking in, she set her things on the table and flipped the lights on in her cramped living room.

The home was snug but pleasant, and Ava had gone to great lengths to make it that way. There was a two-person table in her kitchen and next to it a wall that housed a red sofa and squat bookcase. The television sat across from the couch, almost overlapping the door to the bathroom and various pictures lined the walls. Her salary didn't give her room to be extravagant, but she tried to make the apartment feel warmer than the neighborhood she lived in.

She trudged into the bedroom, stripping off her wet clothes as she went.

Changing into a baggy 90s t-shirt and a pair of grey boy shorts, Ava sat on her bed and attempted to call the restaurant down the block, her stomach grumbling.

Picking up the phone, she sank onto her pillows, propped on one elbow. She pulled the menu out of her nightstand's drawer and began to dial. Struggling to press the numbers, her eyes fluttered and shut, the drumming rain immediately putting her to sleep.

* * *

**This is a re-post of one of my longest fics to date (I'm only revising, so expect a new chapter every week or so!). There's a bit of build up, but as you'll see these aren't the same characters from the Nolan movies--they're darker, more twisted and that takes a little time to show.  Anyway, I'd appreciate any comments on what you guys think!  
**

**~L.L  
**

* * *


	2. Nothing to Lose

 

Ava woke with a frustrated groan, the sun from her bedroom window hitting her face. She twisted and turned as she tried to shield herself from the light, but to no avail. Its gold was everywhere, its vivid brightness covering everything. Begrudgingly, she rolled out from underneath her covers and made her way into the kitchen, painfully aware that she didn't order dinner last night. Opening the fridge and freezer, she reached for eggs, a box of frozen waffles, and orange juice.

From the cupboards came a pan, two small plates and a glass. She then set about making her breakfast, throwing two blueberry waffles into the toaster and cracking eggs onto a heating skillet.

To Ava, Sunday mornings were nothing but a precursor to Monday. She spent most of them singing in her pajamas or watching old movies, too tired to do anything else. Apart from the occasional visit she made to her Aunt Vivian's house, the day was reserved for catching up on the life that she put on hold the other six days of the week.

She heard the 'pop' of the waffles as they sprung from the toaster slots and flipped a sunny-yolked egg as her meal came together. Pouring juice into the glass she took out and plating her food, Ava made her way to the table, hands full.

Munching on a waffle and awakening, she made plans for the day, not actually expecting to do much.

 _Maybe I'll go shopping._  she thought, chewing.  _But with who?_

She didn't exactly have a long list of friends. It wasn't for a lack of personality, but she was always busy with work. While everyone in college was out partying the night away, she was holed up in the tech lab typing a thesis. There were her friends from high school, but they all moved out of Blüdhaven as soon as they had gotten chance.

While she never had much time to think about it during the week, she often spent weekends by herself, lonely.

  
_I don't need anyone to come with._  She shook the emerging self-pity from her head and halfheartedly got up to shower.

 

After washing the dishes, Ava walked into her room and opened her closet, looking for something to wear. Thumbing through the clothes, she found a pair of jeans, a long-sleeve white shirt and red knit scarf. Taking them to her bathroom, she showered, hot water easing the sleep from her body. Working some floral shampoo into her hair, she let out a sigh, fully relaxing as the week's stress faded.

Getting out, she dried her off and changed into the outfit on the sink. Brushing her teeth and putting on some lipstick, Ava stepped out, ready to face the day.

 _You can't go alone_ , came a sudden doubt as she looked at herself in the mirror.  _Yo_ _u'll look stupid._

She stopped, taking time to consider whether or not she should go. It had been at least a month since she had done something outside of her apartment on a Sunday, and all the work in the world couldn't keep her from feeling restless.

 

Before she could make a definite decision, the phone rang, startling her. Wondering who it could be, she ran to her room. Looking at the name on her cell phone, she was surprised to see Harding's name.

"Hello?" she answered tentatively.

"Hi Ava, I have some good news for you." said her boss.

"What is it, Mr. Harding?" Ava sat on her bed, hoping that it wasn't anything that would require going in to the office today.

"Remember that big assignment I told you I gave to Mitch last night?"

"Yes," she said, voice rising a bit in anticipation. "what about it?"

"Well, turns out his pregnant wife is too far along for him to leave the city. I figured I'd call you first before another analyst, just in case you wanted to-"

"I'd love to cover it!" interjected Ava, too excited to let him finish.

"You don't even know what 'it' is, kid." laughed Harding. Her enthusiasm is exactly why he called her.  _She'll be perfect._

"True. What exactly is it?"

"You'll be covering the District Attorney campaign in Gotham. Candidates, press conferences, public opinion and all that jazz until it's over. It'll probably be about four, five months. What do you say?"

Ava said nothing for a moment, considering the proposition.

_Four months in Gotham._

She had never visited the city, but always heard it was dangerous if you hadn't lived somewhere like it.

 _It can't be worse than here._  she reasoned. Growing up in Blüdhaven, she had learned the ins-and outs, where to go and where not to. She was no stranger to city life and figured Gotham wouldn't be too steep of a learning curve.

"I'll do it."

"Great kid," replied Harding. "I need you on the 8:00 PM train to Gotham at the latest. Do you know anyone you could stay with there?"

Ava chewed her lip, pondering the question. She only knew one person there, and she hadn't spoken with her in almost three years.  _Guess I'll be making that call today._

"Yeah, I know a few people."

"Then you're all set. All you have to do is swing by the office and pick up your laptop before you go. I'll send you all the files and deadlines in e-mail."

"Thank you, sir." reacted Ava, not knowing exactly what to say.

"No problem, I know you'll do great. You'll only need to send one article a week, but it better be the best damn article I've ever read, got it?"

 

"Got it." she said, a wide smile on her face.

"Good luck, and I'll see you in four months. Take care of yourself."

"I will, Mr. Harding. Goodbye."

Hanging up, Ava began to dance around the apartment, jumping wildly in excitement. Twirling around the kitchen table and taking a large bite out of an apple from its fruit bowl, she plopped onto the couch.

"My first out-of-city." The words sounded even better to her when spoken.  _I should send Mitch's wife a 'Thank You' card._

She was so excited that she couldn't keep herself from smiling. _Just me, a new city and a laptop._

Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, calming her happiness. Looking at the time on her phone, she sprung up, realizing that there were less than twelve hours before she had to be en-route to Gotham.

Pulling two blue suitcases from beneath her bed, Ava began to pack.

Racing around her small bedroom, she took several tops, pants, scarves, jackets, dresses and boots from her wardrobe. Examining each item critically, she weeded out the ones she considered too plain and hung them up.

Going through a few t-shirts near the back of her closet, Ava paused when she spied a red princess costume and grinned. She ran her fingers along the smooth velvet and loud lacy trim of the small sleeves, recalling the Halloween she had worn it.

* * *

" _Hurry up, Aves, we're gonna be late!" came a childish call from the girl who squirmed in excitement on the living room sofa. She was dressed as a rose, her red hair twisted artfully into petal-shaped plaits on her head and body wrapped in a green leotard._

" _I'm just putting on my shoes, Mel calm down!" shouted Ava, struggling to buckle a pair of glittery Mary Janes._

" _Are you girls ready?" called an older woman expectantly as she walked from the kitchen to the living room, empty Jack O' Lantern buckets in both hands. Her brown eyes smiled, the laugh lines on her eyelids winking._

" _Well_ I  _am, but Ava's taking_ forever _!" whined the flower girl, rising from her spot._

" _Am not!" started Ava, glaring at her friend. "Aunt Viv, I can't get these shoes to buckle."_

" _Come, let me help you," Vivian chuckled, sitting down on the couch. "Pammy, could you hold these while I take care of Ava?"_  


  
_Pamela readily accepted the responsibility, holding the items with visible pride._ _Vivian quickly went to work on the shoes of nine year old Ava, fastening the buckles with ease._ _Ava hugged her aunt and ran to join her friend's side, smoothing the corners of her dress. The frilly lining itched, but that was no matter_ — _tonight she was royalty, decked in a scarlet gown and magical shoes._  


  
_"_ _Now I'm ready." she stated, taki_ ng her candy bucket from her friend and heading towards the front door.

 

" _It's about time." teased Pamela, slapping her friends arm in jest. "How do we look, Auntie?"_  


" _You're the prettiest flower and princess I've ever seen," admired Vivian. "Ava, where did you put your crown?"_

" _I've got it." piped Pamela, taking it from a nearby table and placing it lopsidedly on her friend's head._ _Ava's bushy black hair, now complete with a crooked plastic crown, fell well below her shoulders in a mess of tight curls._  


" _I crown you, Princess of Taylor Street." announced Pam, linking arms with Ava and walking to the porch._

" _And I crown you, Queen of the Roses." giggled Ava, waiting for her aunt to follow them outside._

" _All right Ladies Taylor and Rose," said Vivian, guiding the two girls out of the yard and onto the sidewalk. "What do you say we go get some candy?"_

" _Yeah!" the costumed duo exclaimed, running ahead to a house that had several other children flocking at its steps._

" _First one to Mrs. Emory's has to give up their Skittles!" yelled Ava, now sprinting to the bright yellow house._

" _You're on!" replied Pamela competitively._

" _Be careful girls!" reminded Vivian, trailing slightly behind them as the dusk settled on the three making their way down the block._

* * *

Ava pushed it to the back of the closet and resumed packing .

Flipping the lock on the first piece of luggage, she carefully layered her clothes in the bag's main pocket. Reaching in a chest of drawers for underwear, pajamas and socks, she darted about the room, hurrying to ready herself. Clothes and colors flew as she took what she wanted and discarded the rest in piles on her pillows.

Packing a toothbrush, jewelry and her shoes into the second suitcase, she was almost done. The two satchels sat stuffed to the brim, ready to go.

Filling a backpack with her cell phone charger and a few good books from the bookcase, she set to tidying the house, washing dishes and quickly cleaning her bathroom. Changing the sheets on her bed, and putting everything in her room back in its place, Ava sat down, satisfied with her work.

_I've gotta call Aunt Viv._

Ava's Aunt Vivian was the one person in Blüdhaven that she would truly miss in the four months she'd be gone. She was the one who had taken her in after her parents deserted her at age three.

To Ava's alcoholic mother and heavy-handed father, she was nothing more than a mistake and they considered it a joyous occasion when they dropped their trusting daughter off at her aunt's house with little more than the clothes on her back and the teddy bear in her arms.

 

Vivian had gone above and beyond for her niece, sparing no expense to make sure that she was nurtured properly. Of course, Ava always had her doubts about her own merit, unsure if she deserved her aunt's kindness. But Vivian always assured her that she was the daughter she could never have, and that generated a sense of appreciation that outdid Ava's reservations.

 

"Hey, it's me."

 

"Ava," greeted the older woman. "How's your Sunday going?"

"Not bad, Auntie." responded Ava, trying to contain her excitement. "I have something to tell you."

"What is it dear?"

"I finally got chosen for an out-of-city and it's in Gotham!" she exclaimed, unable to hide her happiness.

 

"That's great, sweetie! I'm so happy for you! How long are you there for?" asked Vivian, now curious. They'd always been within a bus ride's distance of each other, and Ava knew the possibility of Viv not seeing her at all made her aunt a tad blue.

 

"Four months, so I was wondering if you could swing by while I'm gone."

 

"Of course I'll watch your apartment for you, but  have you thought this through? Four months is a long time for a strange city and you've hardly been back a year since New York."

Ava huffed in slight frustration, hearing the concern in her aunt's voice. Vivian was always worrying, and even when Ava left for college, kept strict watch over her.

 

"It's not that strange, Viv. I've lived my whole life in cities—here, New York—I can take care of myself. It's a little rushed sure, and I'd have to leave today, but it's a great opportunity for me."

 

"I suppose it is," conceded Vivian, half-convinced. "But I'll still miss you. Have you told Pam you're coming to Gotham?"

 

"No, I'll call her soon...I was hoping I could stay with her." Ava mumbled, wringing her hands. It wasn't a call she was looking forward to.

"Don't let me hold you then, it's about time you two got back in touch. I love you, Ava. Call me when you get there and keep me posted on how you're doing, okay sweets?"

 

"Of course, and I love you too. Wish I had time to stop by." said Ava, already beginning to feel guilty about it all.

 

"Me too, darling, me too."

_5:00 PM._

Doing a once-over of her home, Ava made sure everything was clean and returned to the kitchen and picked up the phone once more. She scrolled down her contacts list until she reached the 'P' tab and took a deep breath. She pressed it and raised the phone to her ear, listening to the dial tone.

It rang twice.

"Pamela Isley speaking," came the direct greeting. It was tense and demanding, as if she were awaiting a call from someone she ought not to be.

  
_She sounds…different_.True, Pam's voice always had a sardonic edge to it, a product of how she had been brought up. But the way she spoke now suggested something darker than a cold upbringing.

Ava paused for a second, not knowing what to do.

The two had grown up in Blüdhaven, only three houses apart. Best of friends since the first grade, Pam and Ava spent almost all their time together, finding any excuse to have sleepovers.

Pam's parents were always at work and she often spent weekends with Ava, hosting tea parties and watering Vivan's garden. Fascinated with plants, Pam usually spent her time drawing flowers and Ava joined her, writing stories to go with her pictures. They were inseparable until their senior year of high school, when Pam got an offer to attend Gotham University's Botany program and Ava applied to college in New York.

Fighting over loyalties and locations, each insisted that the other apply to a college in the same city. Both got accepted into their desired schools, and upon finding that they couldn't go to school together, simply stopped speaking.

That had been almost four years ago.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mel." said Ava.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been lazy updating this story here (sorry about that!) but thanks for all the kudos and views. I'm gonna mass-post the existing chapters, so don't worry, there will be more! Also, sorry for the spacing issues...still getting used to this format.


	3. New Places

Pam Isley was strewn across a blue chaise in her apartment, clothed in nothing but a half-buttoned white Oxford and a pair of lacy black shorts. A curling wisp of grey smoke made its way out of her mouth, catching the failing light of sunset as it faded to nothing. She let out a sigh, weaving her reddish locks between her fingers. It had been another long night for the budding botanist, and she had slept only six hours in the last two days.

Stealing a glance at the bright flowers sitting on her windowsill, she unwillingly got up, remembering that she hadn't watered them. Putting out the stub of her cigarette out on a nearby ashtray, she went to fill a blue watering can at her kitchen faucet.

Her sight caught on the multicolored treetops of Robinson Park below and a smile crept onto her face as she listened to the scuff of footsteps nearing the sink.

"When did you get up?" slurred a husky voice in her ear.

Pam let out a soft laugh and leaned slightly into the body that snaked its hands around her waist.

Her Friday was spent typing her thesis paper, _The Fundamental Principles of Asexual Germination_ , but the warm hands that clutched around her stomach and strong embrace of the figure behind her accounted for last night's distraction.

"A while ago, actually. You mean you didn't miss me?" she asked jokingly, turning to face the man behind her. A pair of copper-flecked brown orbs peered into the woman's green ones, lighting a small fire in Pam's chest.

"I always miss you. Who else would give me all _this_?" the man countered easily, lowering his face to hers and placing a hungry kiss on her lips. The sharp tang of stale alcohol, mingled with the essence of the cigarette served as an elixir for Pam as she intensified her movements. Moaning gently, she ran her hands along his lower back.

The man pulled away, his eyes half-lidded with lust and grabbed hold of Pam's arm, attempting to lead her back to the bedroom.

"Come on…" was his subtly-spoken demand.

"Jay, I can't…I still have my paper to finish. I'm falling behind as it is." said Pam, tugging her arm out of his grasp with a groan.

The man's gentle charm was instantly gone and his soft voice hardened with impatience.

"How many times do I have to say it? It's Jason or Professor to you." he hissed cruelly. "And it's not like you actually need to type the paper, I'll just give you another extension."

She flinched at his cold words.

"You can't give me _another_ extension; it'll be two weeks late and people are starting to notice!" she replied angrily, then softening. "Why can't we just tell everyone?"

It was true, and Jason knew it. In the last six months he and Pam had gotten much closer than a typical student-teacher relationship required, and some of his colleagues were picking up on the stolen glances and lingering conversations that had passed between them.

Still, he wasn't about to risk his job for the naïve girl from Blüdhaven.

"Look. I told you I was only here for one thing, Pam, and I don't want anything else from you. You're not my girl and you can't be, got it?" he stated bluntly.

Pam was visibly shaken, her chest heaving as a quiet tear trickled down her cheek.

 _He'll never love you._ Nagged a voice in her head. It was the same one that scolded her every time she kissed him, every late night he stumbled into her apartment drunk- it was the voice of reason, and she had always ignored it.

She searched his eyes for any sign of tenderness, but found none. His face was serious, and his words even more so. Instead of sadness, Pam felt rage course through her veins, and she nodded frantically, as if it were the only thing keeping her from a breakdown.

"Pam?" inquired a worried Jason, seeing the change.

"Get out," she growled lowly, fists clenching.

"What?" he said, dumbfounded. He always came and went whenever he chose, never _told_ to leave.

"Get out!" screamed Pam, now livid. She ripped the Oxford from her body and threw it at him, buttons popping as it flew off. "And take your shit with you!"

Jason caught his shirt in surprise and put his hands up, backing a few feet away from her.

"Fine! You were always a crazy whore anyway! Say goodbye to your grade in my class!" he yelled back, storming into her bedroom to get his things.

Pam covered her now-bare chest with her arms and again slumped onto the blue chair, sobbing openly. Numb, she stared out of the window across from her coffee table. Minutes after, the door to her apartment slammed shut as Jason left, but she heard nothing. Rocking back and forth, she cried on the couch, knees tucked beneath her chin.

Ending her sorrow, she got up and padded to her room, grabbing a pair of heather sweatpants and a navy sweatshirt.

"Still have to finish this paper," she whispered to the empty space, opening her laptop.

An hour later, she was typing furiously away when she got the call. A half-eaten granola bar sat at her left and the woman munched distractedly as she concentrated on the screen in front of her.

The high-pitched ring of her phone startled her and she picked it up, expecting a call from Jason. She was shocked, to say the least, when she heard the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Ava?"

"Yeah, it's me…how've you been?" asked Ava, trying to sound casual.

Pam steadied her thoughts and answered, hesitant.

"Um, fine I guess." The lie brought with it the urge to cry, which she fought to suppress.

"Sorry, did I interrupt your work?"

"No, I was just typing a thing for next week, but it can wait. How are you and Aunt Vivian?" The distance Pam had in her voice cracked, and she spoke with genuine interest.

"I'm okay," answered Ava, "and she's good."

Dry silence ensued as both women sat uneasily, trying to think of something to say. Pam hadn't thought about or visited Blüdhaven since she moved to Gotham, but Ava's call brought her experiences rushing back.

"Mel? I-I know we haven't spoken in a while, and I'm sorry, but I have a favor to ask of you."

Pam's grip on the phone tightened as she braced herself for potential bad news. Even though they hadn't spoken in years, she felt the same amount of concern she always had for Ava.

"Of course Aves, what do you need?"

"You can totally say no if you want, but I got my first out-of-city at the _Sun_ and it's in Gotham so I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while." explained Ava, fingers crossed as she sat at her table.

_Please don't say no._

There was no answer for a moment as Pam tried to craft a response.

The ice cream cones the girls used to buy on Sundays, the long nights she spent in her room while her parents fought downstairs- everything suddenly overwhelmed her, and she was unsure of whether she wanted Ava living with her as a constant reminder of those times.

 _At least she's not a lying sack of crap._ she reasoned silently.

Figuring she could use the company after what had gone on with her and Jason, Pam made up her mind and spoke with the brightest voice she could drum up.

"Really? That's great! And sure, it's the least I can do for all the time I spent at your place. How long are you going to be in Gotham?"

"Four months, but I'll pay for my things while I'm there." said Ava, now elated.

"No you won't. There's no way in hell I'm letting you pay for stuff while you're here. You're family." Pam stated warmly, her insistence clear.

"We'll see about that." challenged Ava jokingly. "Are you still upset about…y'know-"

"No, of course not! It was a stupid argument and you know I can't stay angry at you for long." Pam's assurance comforted Ava, who had been uncertain of how to proceed.

"Just making sure. I'm taking the 7:15 to Gotham, so I'll call you when I'm at the train station."

"Alright, I'll see you in a little while Aves."

"Bye Mel."

Pam got off the couch and grabbed her keys, a smirk playing on her lips.

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

 

Ava hurried out of her apartment and down the stairs, hampered by the weight of her bags. Walking four blocks in the chilly autumn evening, she pulled her black fleece tight around her and headed to the 40th Street subway station.

She swiped her subway card and slid past the turnstile, anxious to leave. Standing on the platform, she waited for the G train that would take her to the heart of the Art District.

She clutched her bags close to her and pulled an iPod from her pocket. Putting the headphones into her ears, she scrolled through the collection of songs, looking for something to listen to.

The strong thrum of an alternative guitar surged in her ears and brought a smile to Ava's face as her eyes tracked the sleek train that was pulling to a stop where she stood. Taking her things and squeezing past a few standing passengers, she settled into a seat in the back and sighed contentedly, watching the subway doors close.

_This should be fun._

Two hours and three trains later, Ava arrived at Gotham Central Station, somewhat frazzled. She had endured the incessant cacophony of crying babies, boisterous laughter, and loud conversation from the trains, but was still excited to see her first glimpse of Gotham.

Her wide eyes shifted eagerly about the station, taking in the throngs of passing people. All types walked by, from the homeless beggars that hovered pitifully over large garbage cans, to the elitists that strode by in attire far too extravagant for a mundane train ride. The constant flipping of the tiles on the station's Arrival and Departures board rang distantly in her ears as she started toward the entrance, scanning the crowd for any sign of her friend.

Bags in tow, Ava ignored the sea of faceless strangers around her and waded slowly past a newsstand. Stopping for a moment, she looked out again and smiled when she saw a ribbon of fiery-colored hair swaying to and fro just a bit ahead of her.

"Mel!" shouted Ava, waving her arm to catch the woman's attention.

Pam heard the distant call and spun around, immediately grinning when she caught sight of Ava. Quickly shoving past people, she made her way to the stall.

"Aves!" yelled Pam.

Ava caught her friend in a tight hug, squeezing her shoulders. It had been forever since she had seen Pam, and her excitement at the occasion was clear.

"It's been too long." said Ava, pulling away and picking up one of her suitcases.

"Seriously, it has. Here, let me help you with that." Pam took the bag from Ava's hands, leaving her to pull the rolling suitcase.

"Have you been waiting long?" asked Ava, falling in step beside Pam as they neared the entrance doors.

"Only half an hour. How was your train ride?"

"Considering the screaming children and the guy who reeked of sewer stench next to me, it was great."

"Wonderful." snickered Pam.

The two stepped out of the station and into a stiff wind that whipped about the street. Ava stared at the city around her, fully taking it in.

Stark high rises stretched everywhere, the spaces between their smooth glass panes forming crevices where apartment buildings and shops nestled. On the skyline, one skyscraper towered above the rest, crowned with a large silver 'W'. Bright light from street lamps and storefronts bathed the blocks, casting looming shadows on the sidewalks as people walked by.

"Welcome to Gotham, Aves. Are you hungry?"

Inhaling the crisp autumn air, Ava caught the scent of smoky roasting nuts from the nearby street vendors and nodded.

"Starved. Did you eat dinner yet?" asked Ava.

"Haven't really had the chance; I've been typing a paper. Do you still like Chinese?"

"Of course I do! Know anywhere good?"

"Yeah, but not around here. We'll drive to my place and order it while you unpack."

"Awesome. Are we taking the train?"

"No, my car's parked right over there." answered Pam, pointing to a blue sedan a few feet away from them.

Walking to the car and packing the bags in the trunk, Ava absentmindedly glanced at the posters plastered on a nearby construction site wall.

Paying little attention, she glimpsed the "I Believe in Harvey Dent" bills, red white and blue with a photo of Dent looking stoically back at her. But as she went to stuff her backpack into the last bit of space, the realization hit her.

_Harvey Dent._

Whipping around, she stared at the posters, fully recognizing the face on the wall.

"Mel?" uttered Ava, closing the trunk. _It can't be._

Pam, just about to open the driver's side door, came to see why Ava called her. Seeing the posters Ava was staring at, she smiled.

"I see you've found Gotham's latest poster boy. Look familiar?"

Of course, he had grown up, but the grey eyes from the picture were the same pair that she used to see every day a few years ago.

" _That's_ what Apollo turned into?" exclaimed Ava in shock.

Harvey "Apollo" Dent had attended Dixon High, the same school as Pam and Ava's, and moved out of Blüdhaven in the middle of junior year. He was always the clean-cut, professional type that everyone loved and was voted "Most Likely to Succeed" all three years.

"Yup, he's running for District Attorney this year. Remember when you used to swoon over him?" mocked Pam, laughing.

"Shut up! I didn't _swoon_ , I just found him attractive."

"I've known you too long for that crap. Every time we hung out with him, you melted."

Ava rolled her eyes, but she had to admit it was true. The two always had classes together and despite being well-liked by everyone in school, Harvey often hung out with Pam and Ava. Whenever he was around, she seemed to trip over simple words or giggle a little too loudly at his jokes. And while it was lost Harvey, Pam never let an opportunity to tease Ava about it pass by.

"Maybe I got a little nervous, but that doesn't matter now. I'll be writing news stories about him soon."

"I figured as much. Hope you're right Aves, or your gonna have a t-t-tough time asking those interview questions." joked Pam as she nudged Ava with her elbow.

Ava tried to glare at Pam, but saw the ridiculous face she made and chuckled. Pam unlocked the car and walked back to the driver's side.

"Was it really that bad?" groaned Ava, getting in and buckling her seat belt.

"You know I love you, but the only person I've ever heard stutter that badly is Porky the Pig."

"Whatever, at least I didn't keep a cactus named Reginald in my locker." shot Ava with mock conceit.

"Hey! You know Reggie was an experiment!"

"Right, that's why I caught you talking to it all the time?"

Pam slapped Ava's shoulder and turned on the ignition, the girls continuing to chatter about old times. Speeding along the road, Ava sighed in satisfaction, happy not to spend another Sunday alone.


	4. Awake

Ava was greeted by the faint scent of cigarettes as she rolled her suitcase into Pam's apartment. Following behind her, Ava was surprised when the flick of a light switch illuminated the previously dark home.

It was beautiful. The floors were a rich brown, the counters granite, and all sorts of colorful plants decorated the windowsills. In between two flower-adorned windows, a larger one framed the view of Gotham's skyline. Completing the space were various fashionable paintings and rugs, along with a green wall fountain that swished quietly in the den.

"What do you think?" asked Pam, setting her keys down on a hutch.

"I think," began Ava, walking past Pam, "that I should've been a scientist. Mel, this place is incredible!"

"Thanks," replied Pam, making her way down the hallway that held the bedrooms. "The university gave me access to their corporate housing while I work with S.T.A.R. Labs."

Ava looked at the amber and white butts in a glass ashtray on the kitchen counter.

"I didn't know you smoked."

As long as Ava had known Pam, she always remembered her hatred for anything tobacco-related. When the two used to go out and Pam saw someone smoking, they would have to endure the torture of a five-minute lecture about its effects on the body. She would go on and on, passionately condemning them until Ava pulled her away and apologized to whomever she had made her victim.

 _It's not right_ , she used to say. _They're killing themselves for no reason._

Pam never exactly said why she couldn't stand smokers, but after Ava went over her house one evening, she didn't have to. Pam's father had made a practice of snuffing his cigarettes on her skin whenever he was angry, and she had the scars to prove it.

Pam spun around, and Ava caught the worry in her eye.

"I uh…I don't. Lately things have been really stressful at the lab and I picked up a pack to calm myself down." answered Pam, her gaze shifting from left to right.

"Doesn't that seem a bit counterintuitive?" mused Ava suspiciously.

"Yeah, I guess it does." Pam laughed halfheartedly, but offered no explanation. "Come on, I'll show you your room."

Ava carried her bags into the first room on the left, setting them down on the floor. It too, like the rest of the apartment, was rather nice, with mod furniture and a large mirrored closet.

"Cozy." approved Ava, taking off her jacket.

"Glad you like it. Bathroom's across the hall and my room's at the end. Come in once you're changed and we'll order the food."

"Mel?" she called quietly as her friend turned to go. Pam looked over her shoulder.

"Thanks again."

"You're always welcome, Aves."

Left to her own devices, Ava drew the curtains shut and began taking things out of her suitcases. She was meticulous in organizing everything- work apparel on the left side of the closet and everyday on the right. Everything that couldn't be hung found its way into the large silver dresser across from the bed and shoes were stacked neatly on the closet floor's shoe rack.

She changed into red plaid pants and a white t-shirt, then set about the task of putting the contents of her backpack away.

 _Why can't these stupid things unpack themselves?_ Ava wondered unhappily, unzipping the compartments. She was beginning to understand why traveling correspondents pack light.

Out came her laptop, a weathered copy of _The Great Gatsby_ , keys, and cell phone charger. She quickly spread them out on the room's desk and rolled her eyes, aware that there was _still_ another bag to deal with.

Her stomach put her priorities in order with an annoyed groan.

_Later._

With a wicked glint in her eye, she slunk to Pam's room on her tiptoes, attempting to scare her. Pam was reading on the bed, back to her.

Lifting her legs high above white carpet, Ava suppressed a smile and closed in, only two steps away. She was just about to reach out and tap her when the redhead spoke up.

"Ava, you breathe heavier than a fat guy after a marathon."

"Really now? You couldn't have let me win this one time?" whined Ava, deflated. Petulantly, she plopped onto the bed's orange blanket. Rolling onto her stomach, she went to poke Pam with her foot, but stopped when she smelled something odd.

It wasn't smoke, that much was certain. It was gentler, but strong, like sage and cedar. An improbable recipe for perfume, Ava was left with only one conclusion.

_Cologne._

"Not as long as you sound like that, Lady Vader. Ready to eat?"

"Always, but care to tell me who your mystery man is?"

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

_Crap._

Pam had forgotten to change the sheets before she left, too busy trying to get thoughts of Jason out of her head. Student-teacher dating carried severe penalties at Gotham University, and she didn't want to undo seven years of studying because of a scent on her bed. No one was supposed to know about him, and after today, she never wanted anyone to.

There were only two ways out of it- lie or own up.

"What are you talking about?" she asked innocently.

_Lie._

"I'm talking about the cologne in your sheets, Mel!" laughed Ava, sitting up.

"H-he's no one, just a friend." Pam felt a tightening in her chest and took a deep breath, trying to ward off images of what had taken place there just a few hours ago.

 _You're so sexy when you smoke,_ came the specter's voice as it crawled beneath the blankets and onto her skin.

Shivering, she shook it away and wrung her hands, hoping Ava would get the hint and drop it. She didn't.

"Friend?" drawled Ava, rolling her eyes. "I'm your friend, but I certainly won't be leaving a perfume trail when I leave."

Rising annoyance now replaced her sadness, and Pam tried not to let it show. She wasn't angry with Ava, but with herself for not throwing the ashtray he got her in the trash or pawning that cheap necklace he bought her four days after he forgot her birthday.

_Or punching him in the face._

All she knew was that she needed to keep her mind off of him, and the probing questions of her friend, although good-natured, weren't helping.

"Seriously, Aves, let it go."

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

"Okay, okay...sorry." apologized Ava, shrugging. She knew that voice; it was the same tense one she heard on the phone. Whoever this guy was, Pam wasn't too keen on talking about him.

"It's fine, really." said Pam, returning to normal. "How do spring rolls and lo mein sound to you?"

"Delicious." answered Ava, picking up her phone and taking the menu from Pam. Half an hour later, sitting cross legged on a teal armchair, she filled her mouth with a savory bite of lo mein.

"This may be the best Chinese food I've ever had."

"Didn't I tell you it was amazing?" replied Pam, taking a bite out of a saucy spring roll.

Ava fetched her laptop from her bedroom and opened it, getting a head start on tomorrow's tasks. Even though she only had to write one article per week, not knowing the dates of important press events would cause her more stress.

"Aves, it's Sunday. I'm pretty sure your boss won't expect you to submit anything tonight."

"No, he definitely won't," agreed Ava. "But I should check and see when this week's press conferences are."

"Or you could just relax and ask me." offered Pam, mouth full.

"And how would you know?" queried Ava, tempted to laugh.

"Because the election's all over the news silly. Everyone knows Harvey's got one tomorrow at City Hall. "

"Tomorrow? Why didn't you tell me?" squealed Ava, almost spitting out her food.

"You never asked." came the overly-simple reply. "It was supposed to be today, but got canceled because he jumped into some hostage situation at a deli downtown.

"What? How'd that happen?"

"You know Harv. He can't stay away from anything that might get him killed. Remember when he tried fight Rob Dawson after Rob got mad at you for rejecting his prom invite?"

Rob, the hulking, brutish captain of the wrestling team, asked her to the dance in the tackiest fashion possible, and literally followed her to each of her classes after she said no. Harvey saw how much Rob scared her and challenged him, even though Rob was much larger. He ended up with a shiny black eye and a bruised shoulder, but Ava appreciated the gesture.

 _Always white knighting,_ she thought, shaking her head.

"I do...he got destroyed. Care to tell me what time the conference will be?" questioned Ava.

"Sure," winked Pam, relishing Ava's annoyance. "the news said it'd be at nine tomorrow."

Ava looked at the computer's clock: 10:30 PM

"Well," she said, springing out of the chair and putting her carton in the fridge. "I'd love to stick around, but apparently I have a press conference to prep for. Night, Mel."

"Night." waved Pam, going back to work on her thesis.

Ava took a few minutes to scribble some questions into a notebook and got ready to sleep. After planning her outfit and setting her alarm, she snuggled into her new bed, exhausted.

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

Harvey Dent was not having a good morning. He got up late, had no coffee and the governor was breathing down his neck about his plan for the city's crime rate. And on top of it all, he had to deal with the _press_.

Yawning, he listened distractedly to the chatter of the woman at his side as he made his way through a cramped, portrait covered hallway. The unsettling eyes of age old politicians tracked him as he walked by.

"Harvey, did you even hear me? I said 'Don't forget; Wednesday's our dinner with Bruce.'"

 _Bruce Wayne_ , he snorted silently.

Rachel made it a point of introducing Harvey to all of her friends over dinner, a custom that often resulted in either awkward silence as he was scrutinized by Gotham's high society or forced laughter over a topic too dull for jokes. He had endured four meet and greets in the last two months, but this one seemed more important than the others. And why shouldn't it be? He was only going to meet Gotham's prince.

No, it was definitely not his day.

Harvey swung his head to Rachel, his girlfriend, and managed a weak smirk. The nasal whine of her words grated a bit on his strained nerves.

"Don't worry, Rach, I didn't forget." was his terse answer.

"Just making sure." assured Rachel. "Did you remember to call Judge Surrillo before you left the office?"

Harvey saw the door to the press room in front of him and closed his eyes, patience waning with each step. He didn't like dealing with the throngs of reporters. They were aggressive and callous, picking every part of his brain for the answers they wanted. They reminded him of his father, and though he outwardly seemed to thrive in the attention, Harvey often found himself counting the minutes until he could leave the event.

His need of a jolt was apparent and Rachel's questions only intensified his desire for caffeine.

"Do you really think I'd blow the most important call I had to make this morning?"

Rachel was quiet.

He opened the door and looked at the thin navy curtain that separated him from the sea of sharks outside. A current of activity was sweeping him forward, inch by inch until he reached the lit podium just beyond the drape's edge.

Sighing, he shrugged his shoulders and let the waves of last-minute procedure engulf his thoughts. Someone handed him a cue card, and his campaign advisor gave him advice on what to say if any dicey questions were asked.

Harvey feigned interest, pretending to be awake. He had one foot behind the curtain and one foot in the light, but stopped when he saw Rachel's frown out the corner of his eye.

"You know I love you, Rach. It's just been rough today."

"I know." she agreed, pecking his cheek. "Now go get 'em."

Strolling to the podium, he waved to the hungry predators who stared at him eagerly. He grinned as the crowd hushed and glued his feet to the floor.

"Good morning everyone. "

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

Ava shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to balance her notebook and voice recorder on her lap. She tugged at her tawny skirt and looked around, aware of thelooks it had earned her. Apparently, there was an unspoken rule that named black as the only color one could wear to a press conference.

For the last half hour, she raptly listened to Harvey speak about his hatred for the injustice in Gotham and his plan to make the city a safer place.

Yet, as much as she hated political rhetoric, she had to admit, he was convincing; the way he lit up when he spoke of putting the guilty away, the way he appealed to the public: it was clear that he was sincere.

And to her dismay, just as attractive as she found him before. He still had the same strong face, the same grey eyes that made her-

 _Focus!_ she scolded silently, bringing her attention to where it should be.

"We will be taking questions at this time." announced Allan Cypes, Harvey's tight-lipped representative.

Immediately, the once-bored horde of reporters roared to life, standing and waving their notepads about. The mass was frenzied and chaotic, swelling as it threatened to spill onto the stage. Ava jumped up too, wincing as the noise level went from zero to a hundred in a split second. She mimicked the actions of those around her and took to yelling at Cypes, ignoring how she ridiculous she felt.

"Over here!" shouted Ava, muscling past a reporter. But the tide of black drowned her out and she was quickly pushed back to her original spot.

Cypes scanned and pointed to a bottle blonde on the far left, clamor turning to silence. Ava huffed in frustration and sat down.

 _Of course he'd pick her._ she snorted, narrowing her eyes at the woman. Her shirt's first and second buttons were undone.

"Tiffany Samson, _Gotham Herald_. What are your thoughts on the GCPD's efforts to take down the city's mob?"

"While I think the police are doing everything they can, it's impossible for them to wipe out organized crime on their own. They need legislative help, and that's what I'm going to give them." answered a composed Harvey.

The crowd activated again, and Cypes chose an older man in the middle of the room.

_Really?_

She was the only person wearing a color other than black. It was impossible to miss her, or so she thought.

"Gary Evers, _The Times_. Do you think that you can stop the Maroni crime family if you're elected?"

"If I am elected, I will go after the Maronis, no matter what. Their era of preying on the citizens of Gotham is over, I promise you that. It's time for a new day in this city."

Ava heard the conviction in his voice and shivered. His absolution was at once refreshing and frightening. Blüdhaven's politicians were nowhere near this dynamic; most times, their rehearsed lines were as stale as the plastic grins they kept on their faces until the photographers left.

The reporters were on their feet again, and Ava pushed a little harder this time, raising her voice land shoving a woman to her left. Determined, she waded to a less crowded area and signaled with her notebook.

Cypes's searching eyes saw the brown flash of her suit and nodded in her direction.

Ava's heart thudded wildly with excited fear and her words suddenly fled. Although she had prepared, public speaking was not one of her strong suits and she didn't want to make a fool of herself at her first conference.

Nervously, she introduced herself, careful of each letter she had to say.

"A-Ava Madden, _Blüd Sun_." she managed, doing her best not to trip over her words. Harvey's gaze snapped to her, and she saw the recognition on his face. "What's been your biggest challenge in running so far?"

He paused for the first time in the last hour, the surprise rendering him silent.

 _It's me,_ nodded Ava to his silent question.

Clearing his throat, Harvey answered, a slight smile gracing his lips. Ava felt her stomach flutter a bit and suppressed the emotion, scolding herself for acting like a schoolgirl. It had been almost six years since she had last seen him and she still hadn't mastered the art of aloofness. Ava broke eye contact and gazed at her wrinkled notebook.

 _Six years too long for a crush._ she concluded definitively. And while the logic was concrete, she couldn't stop that girly bit of excitement from surging.

"I would say the largest obstacle I've faced so far is getting the people of Gotham to believe in themselves again as a force for change." Ava watched interestedly as Cypes glared in Harvey's direction, evidently not happy with his response.

"No more questions; we're done here." said Cypes abruptly, quickly guiding Harvey behind the curtain as more 'over heres' were thrown his way.

Harvey took another look at Ava, smiling toothily before he ducked behind the curtain.

She waved at him and let out a sigh of relief as he disappeared. She had made it through the press conference without her nerves acting up, which is all she could've asked for. Most of the journalists were still battering Harvey's staff with inquiries, but she was doing her best to slip out of the hall unnoticed. Offering soft 'excuse me's' to the reporters she nudged, Ava eked a path to the door and pushed through, happy to escape the crowded room.

It wasn't that she didn't want to see Harvey, but Ava felt that same shy manner she had in high school creeping up.

 _Why does he still have that stupid smile?_ she grumbled, walking as quickly as she could without drawing undue attention.

Hurrying along the long marble corridor that led to 37th Street, Ava pulled out her phone.

"Are you on your way?" she demanded.

"I'm about five minutes away. You sound worried, everything okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine, just a little nervous."

"What's wrong, Aves, Harvey bat his eyes at you?" Pam's laugh sounded in her ear.

"No," answered Ava, doing her best to sound upset. "It's just-"

"Ava!" called another voice.

_Damn._

She turned around and felt the annoying flutter return as Harvey came towards her. Instinctively, she ran a hand through her hair and attempted her most causally welcoming smile.

"Mel," she started, her tone markedly more pleasant. "I'll call you back."

"He's walking over isn't he?"

"Mhm."

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she straightened up and walked to him, pushing fear out of her mind.

"Harv, it's great to see you!"

He caught her in a hug, and Ava's breath stopped.

 _Keep it together._ She exhaled.

"You too. What are you doing here?" Loosening a bit, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, enjoying his touch a little too much.

"Believe it or not, I'm covering your campaign for the _Sun_ back home."

He pulled away, and Ava pouted, but covered it up with a smile.

"Are you serious? I'm honored."

"Turns out Blüdhaven misses you." she said, laughing.

"I guess so. Do you still live there?"

"Yeah. I moved to Harem Cove last year."

She was surprised that she hadn't said anything stupid yet.

"Aves," he began, using her nickname. "that's a dangerous area."

"Harvey," countered Ava, rolling her eyes as his face twisted with concern. "the Cove's cleaned up a lot since you left. Besides, I'm going to be living out here for the next few months."

"That's good to hear, really it is. How's Aunt Vivian?"

Harvey always considered Ava's aunt his own, to the point where he spent most of the holidays with her and Pam.

"She's doing well. I'll tell her you said 'hi' when I talk to her. How'd you get over here anyway? Isn't there a Harvey Dent entourage?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't call it an entourage, but I told Cypes I was going to the bathroom." came his bemused admission.

"Awesome. Do you want me to hide behind that plant over there if they come looking for you?" joked Ava, pointing to a well-groomed ficus a little ways off.

"That wouldn't do me any good. They'd still find me here in the middle of the lobby."

"Not if you hid with me." suggested Ava, blushing.

_There it is._

It was a bold thing to say, and as soon as it left her mouth, she wanted to take it back. She expected him to awkwardly end the conversation after that, but all he did was laugh at what he understood to be a straightforward joke.

"That just might work." said Harvey, pleased.

"What will?" chimed a woman that Ava hadn't noticed nearing them. She wore a white Oxford, black pants and slight frown to match.

_Typical in a place like this._

Harvey's jaw tensed subtly, but he slid an arm around the woman and pulled her to his side.

"Aves, this is my girlfriend, Rachel." he introduced, leaning into Rachel for a quick kiss. "Rach, this is Ava Madden. We grew up together in Blüdhaven, and she's a reporter for the newspaper there."

Ava did her best to hide the shock at the word 'girlfriend' and extended her hand to Rachel, who gave her a discreet once over.

"Nice to meet you."

"You too. Are you covering the election?" asked Rachel coolly.

"As a matter of fact, I am." replied Ava, noticing the tightness with which Rachel was holding Harvey's hand. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she continued. "I'll be around for a while."

"Good to know. Here's my number." stated Rachel, handing her a business card. "If you want to schedule any interviews with Harvey, call me."

"Thanks, I definitely will."

To anyone watching, the three would appear to be having a marginally pleasant conversation. But Ava sensed both the tension between Harvey and Rachel and the rather cold shoulder Rachel was giving her.

 _What, he can't make his own appointments?_ she thought with annoyance.

"Are you free Wednesday? asked a hopeful Harvey, a little too eager.

Ava saw the hint of anger on Rachel's face as he spoke, but answered the question anyway.

"I think so, why?"

"We're having dinner with a friend that night and I figured some extra dirt might make you stand out when you write your article."

"I'm not sure." hesitated Ava for the sake of social convention." I don't want to intrude on any plans you might have made."

"You won't be." stated Rachel bluntly. Her words were sharp, but they were dull enough to keep Harvey from detecting the edge in her voice. "A reporter will hardly be an intrusion."

Ava glared at her, but bit her tongue and let out a fake chuckle.

"Well in that case, I'd love to. Harv, will you let me know the time and place tomorrow?"

"Sure," he said, not daring to look at the woman on his arm.

Ava's phone rang, the chipper ringtone slicing the tension in the air.

_Finally._

"I'd love to stick around, but my ride's here." explained a grateful Ava, turning to leave. "Nice seeing you again Harv, nice meeting you Rachel. I'll see you both on Wednesday."

Practically running away from the gauche couple, Ava dashed down the whitewashed City Hall steps into Pam's getaway car. Setting her stuff under her feet, she noted her friend's relaxed state and frowned.

"How was it?" quizzed Pam excitedly.

Too confused to manage anything else, Ava gave her the shortest answer she could. The last ten minutes had baffled her, and she was trying to process it all.

"Apparently, I have a date on Wednesday."

* * *


	5. Hints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me...the first few chapters are fairly dialogue-heavy. It won't be as heavy going forward!

"Aves, come out of there, you're going to be late!" shouted Pam, sighing at the sight of her friend's closed bedroom door.

"I'm coming," cried Ava, staring crossly into the mirror. Wednesday snuck up on her like a thief in the night, and for the last half hour she had fussed over her outfit, believing that nothing made her look good. A pile of dresses were haphazardly thrown across the bed, a testament to her indecision. The night hadn't even begun and Ava's nerves were a mess- her hands were shaking, and she had been breathing in worried pants all afternoon.

Retrieving a pair of patent black pumps from her closet, she slipped them on and grabbed her purple clutch off of the bed. Checking its pockets, Ava made sure that she had her cell phone and brought up the text Harvey sent her yesterday.

 _The Ocelot, 148 West 9th. See you there._ Without warning, a grin took to her lips.

Fetching a fluffy-sleeved stole from one of the door hooks, she calmed herself.

_Here goes nothing._

Opening the door, she timidly stepped out, the heels of her shoes gracing the ground with an airy 'click'. Fidgeting with the small bag in her hands, she glanced sheepishly at Pam.

"How do I look?"

"Absolutely gorgeous," answered her friend, getting off the couch and looking her over.

She wore her hair in loose curls and chose an off-the-shoulder black dress that clung to her curves beautifully. Completed with a shimmering blue pendant and matching earrings, Ava was the picture of elegance.

"Really, because I wasn't too sure about the dress. Is it too tight?" She tugged at the corners of the gown, irritated when the fabric on her hips refused to budge.

"You're always so modest! It's not a crime to show off a bit, Aves," Pam said, swatting Ava's worried hands away. "All I know is that Harvey's going to have a hard time keeping his eyes off you tonight."

"Please, Mel, you know he has a girlfriend," replied Ava, rolling her eyes.

"Who, that Rachel girl? She isn't much to look at, if you haven't noticed...and I'm sure you have," joked Pam shamelessly.

"That's horrible!" gasped Ava between peals of laughter. Pam always had a knack for cheering her up.

"But true, and you know it. Now hurry and get out of here, you can't be late to your little soiree."

Ava hugged her and put on a last-minute coat of dark red gloss. Checking her reflection one last time, she smiled at what she saw.

_Not bad._

She would never say it out loud, but part of her hoped that Harvey would have a hard time focusing tonight. Taking heart as her friend gave her an approving wink, she tossed her hair and sauntered to the front door with the utmost confidence.

"I'll see you later Mel."

"See ya, have a good time. Oh, and Aves?"

Ava turned, brows raised.

"Knock him dead."She nodded with a wide smile and closed the door, strutting to the lobby.

Gliding through the richly furnished space, she smirked slightly at the eyes she felt watching her. Approaching a man who pretended to read a newspaper in a nearby leather chair, she made sure to sway visibly, enjoying the attention as his eyes flitted to her form.

It was nice to have the spotlight, if only for a moment. She was always chasing after someone, writing about their story, asking about their lives. But no one cared to look at her, the rookie reporter from Blüdhaven .The man folded up his paper, boldly enjoying the view as she passed by. His eyes flickered with interest and met hers, surprised when she only offered him a coy smirk.

Ava snickered quietly and thanked the old doorman as she entered the chilly Gotham night. Stepping down onto the sidewalk, she pulled her stole tight against her skin and put on her friendliest grin as another doorman neared.

"It's wicked out tonight, Miss. Would you like me to hail a cab for you?"

"That'd be wonderful, thank you," agreed Ava, truly shocked. Things like this never happened to her.

 _Put on a dress and everyone wants to hail your cab._ The concept was oddly disconcerting, but she did her best to shake it away and concentrate on the night ahead.

Soon, the man turned to her, his chubby arms pointing to her four door chariot. She hurried from under the glass overhead and was quickly at his side. He opened the cab and she slid in, her shoe almost falling off as she swept her coat tail into the seat.

"Thanks again." Ava called sweetly out the open window.

"No problem, Miss, enjoy your evening."

"Where to?" asked the cabbie, looking into the rear mirror.

"148 West 9th."

She felt magical sitting in the rather mundane cab, an emotion that was at once strange and exhilarating. Of course, she didn't expect the driver to turn into a fairy godmother or the car a horse-drawn carriage. Nonetheless, it was good to go out without worrying about finishing an article before the clock struck twelve.

_All I need is my Prince Charming._

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

"I had seven faces, thought I knew which one to wear..." hummed Pam absently as she worked on her paper. After three nights of straight typing, it was just about done, and she intended to hand it in before midnight.

 _Whether or not he grades it is his problem_.

Although Ava's presence had distracted her enough in the last few days, a cloud of worry still brewed storms in Pam's head. Jason hadn't called or emailed her, and as vehemently as she tried to deny it, that bothered her. She was sure she'd scared him off the last time, that his pride would be too wounded to again darken her doorstep with promises of pleasant nights. And as far as a relationship with the tall, dark-haired professor was concerned, she had been able to convince her head that the way it ended was best.

But it wasn't her head that was arguing with her decision tonight.

 _Maybe I should just forget about it._ came the thought, threatening a downpour of doubt that she couldn't afford to indulge in. That was the problem— she couldn't forget. Her skin itched to be touched, and her mind begged to be toyed with.

Reluctantly, Pam closed the laptop, aware of the fact that she wasn't going to get anything done. This night didn't belong to science— it was dedicated to erasing memories of a man she couldn't have. Eyeing the stout-necked bottle on the counter, she shot up and grabbed a glass tumbler from the sink. Uncorking the crystal decanter, she poured herself some brandy, watching as the umber liquid circled the rim of the cup before settling at the bottom. Raising it, she bitterly made a toast.

"To snakes in the grass." Pam tilted her head and gulped greedily, letting the liquid fire scorch her throat. The drink warmed her bones and dulled her just enough to make the pictures a little fuzzier, the sounds a bit more distant.

She reached for another sip, enjoying the liquor's sweetness as it danced on her tongue, when a knock sounded at the door.

 _Ava, what did you forget now?_ wondered Pam, setting her drink down and walking toward the entrance. Unlatching the chain and twisting the knob's lock, she opened it, already scolding her friend for running late.

"Seriously, Aves," she started, standing in the doorway. "Why are you still—"

"Pam."

She froze and looked up, heart dropping as her ghost braced on the doorframe, dark hair and all.

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

Ava's eyes focused on the grandeur of the place she was about to enter, a healthy dose of apprehension rising. The Ocelot looked less like an eatery and more like a palace, complete with two valets on either side of its wide gray awning. High, arched windows stretched along the front, flooding pale yellow light onto the street.

She took small steps towards the door, vaguely registering the sound of the cab as it sped away. With each passing moment, the urge to turn around and run home grew stronger, but she thought better of it.

_Pam would never let me live it down._

Others cut impatiently in front of her, regulars by the way they spoke to the valets. An older, white haired man in an expensive suit carelessly threw his keys to one of the attendants while chatting with the younger woman on his arm.

Ava stared after him, bewildered.

 _You would trust_ him _to park your car?_ she questioned silently, examining the uniformed kid out the corner of her eye. He was young, no older than seventeen, his gold lapel crooked and jacket half-zipped. Hurrying to the older man's shining silver car, the valet jumped in and went to park it, swerving momentarily into the opposite lane.

Ava swiveled on her heel and strolled toward the entry, trying her best not to look completely out of place. Another man quickly passed her, brushing her shoulder in the process. He was tall, and walked with a wealthy aplomb, not even stopping to apologize for what he had done. His date was blonde, her giggles high-pitched and endless as they drifted in the night air.

"Rich jerk," mumbled Ava, glaring at the man as he disappeared inside the building. She followed quickly behind, the warm, fragrant air of The Ocelot greeting her cold fingers. Approaching the RSVP desk, she scanned the room, looking for any sign of Harvey and Rachel. All she could make out were scattered clusters of well-dressed men and women.

"May I help you?" asked the maître d', glancing up from a book that she assumed held reservations.

"I'm looking for Harvey Dent," said Ava in a voice smaller than she intended. He flipped the pages of the book, running his finger along a few of its lines.

"Are you Miss Madden?"

"I am."

"Right this way."

With that, Ava was led through a maze of tables and columns, twisting and turning until she reached the center of the dining room. A few people looked up from their meals in curiosity, interested in seeing who she was eating with.

"Mr. Dent and Ms. Dawes are right over there." The headwaiter pointed to a spot two tables from where she stood.

They were quiet, too quiet for a couple out to dinner. Rachel played absently with a fork, sliding it from one side of her plate to the other; Harvey had his arms folded, and stared at the tablecloth. Even from this far away, Ava could see that all was not right in their world.

_Oh goody, the Ice Princess looks happy._

Smiling, she went over to them.

"Hey guys."

"Ava," said Harvey, hugging her. His eyes swept her body, lingering for a second in places it shouldn't have. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks, Harv. You look pretty good yourself." replied Ava, with a knowing grin.

"Nice to see you again, Ms. Madden." Rachel rose and shook Ava's hand, gripping it a little too tightly.

"Please, call me Ava," she corrected casually, catching the face Rachel made at Harvey.

"Ava it is then. Have a seat."

She did, and found herself trying to strike up a conversation to break the unwelcome silence.

"Well," she coughed, looking at the couple. "this is a really nice place."

Both of them brought their eyes to her, but only Harvey replied.

"Isn't it? It took us forever to get a reservation here."

"I can see why. Looks like it'd be booked for weeks."

"Of course, the reservation was previously made for two," stated Rachel offhandedly, taking a sip of water.

"Was it?" started Ava, eyeing her. "You say that like I invited myself."

"That's not what she meant at all, is it Rach?" interjected Harvey, trying to soothe his girlfriend's latent anger.

Before she could respond, the voice of another man brought the conversation to a screeching halt.

"Rachel?"

Ava looked behind her and saw the same inconsiderate man who had almost knocked her over.

_And his annoying date._

"Bruce, you made it." attempted a halfhearted Rachel, voice belying that she was nervous.

The reporter in Ava impelled her to observe the situation, her eyes shifting interestedly from Rachel to Harvey and back again. Harvey was unaffected, oblivious to the silent exchange that was taking place between his girlfriend and this man.

Rachel was the exact opposite. Suddenly, her faced flushed and she got up clumsily, almost knocking over the vase of flowers in the table's center. Ava stifled a laugh with her hand.

"Harvey, Ava, this is Bruce Wayne," introduced Rachel, voice falling to a near-whisper. "Bruce, this is Ava Madden. She's a reporter for the newspapers in Blüdhaven."

_Wayne? Must be his name on that big tower._

"Nice to meet you both. This is Natascha Petrenko. She's the prima ballerina for the Russian Ballet," said Bruce, presenting the woman to the group.

"Harvey's taking me to see it next week," bragged Rachel.

"You're into ballet Harvey?"

Harvey looked at Ava, both thinking the same thing.

 _What an ass._ But she had to admit, he was an attractive ass. With a strong face, near-black hair, and fit physique, she was almost sorry that Pam wasn't there to see him.

_She always liked brunets._

"He knows I am," clarified Rachel smartly.

"Let's put a couple tables together," suggested Bruce, smugly ignoring her comment.

"I don't know if they'll let us—" hesitated Harvey.

"They should! I own the place."

_Of course you do._

And with a snap of his fingers, there was room for two more in the Dent party. Pleasantly surprised, Ava ended up next to Harvey and Bruce went to take a seat between Rachel and his date.

Bruce passed Ava and dropped his mouth to her ear.

"I'll try my best not to be a 'rich jerk' tonight, Miss Madden," he joked, hand brushing her shoulder. Mortified, Ava blushed furiously, and offered him an apologetic smile to which he winked.

_Great, I haven't even been here two weeks and I managed to insult Gotham's prince._

She turned to Harvey, who had been watching keenly, and answered his wordless 'what was that?' with a light shrug. Picking up the leather-bound menu, she scanned the items, knowing full well that what she wanted was sitting directly to her left.

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

 _I have to stop doing this._ mused Pam, taking a long drag from a freshly-lit cigarette. Jason hadn't even been there ten minutes and here she was, smoking more than a fifties movie star. Then again, the glowing death stick was the only thing keeping her from punching him in the face. That, and whatever project he said he wanted to talk to her about.

"It better not involve anything in your pants," she quipped, blowing smoke into the air.

"What are you talking about?" answered Jason lazily as he swigged liquor straight from the bottle.

"Whatever project you came to ask me about. I'm done with you, Professor _,_ " she snorted, placing special emphasis on the last word. _Since you're so damn fond of the title._

"I don't believe that," leered the man, stalking toward her. He neared, closer and closer, until he was an alcohol-tainted breath away from her face. Pam was paralyzed, eyes looking anywhere but at him. "Why else would you let me in before I told you why I came?"

She had no answer and he knew it.

"You don't need to say it, Pam. I know you like this…" he hissed, his free hand reaching out to rub her cheek.

And on any other night, he'd be right. She'd ignore the red flags and give in, allowing him to coerce her into things that she couldn't even begin to admit to anyone. Except it wasn't any other night—this one already had a purpose, and showing weakness wasn't it.

_Enough._

She seized his wrist, new anger shining in her eyes.

"I told you I'm _done_ , you sorry sack of shit. Tell me what it is you came for and leave."

Jason shook his head and took a seat on her sofa, showing no sign of alarm.

"You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. I came to see if you'd be interested in conducting some cross-species fusion research."

Pam leaned on the counter, mildly entertained.

She was majoring in botany, but had a penchant for the cutting edge. Her thesis two years ago dealt with the similarities between human and plant genetics, which earned her an internship with S.T.A.R., Gotham's premier biotech lab. Still, she hadn't had the opportunity to actually conduct fusion experiments, and that bothered her.

"Don't play with me," she warned. "You know I've been trying to get into the S.T.A.R's fusion department since last year."

"Fair enough. Look, it's not exactly…approved by the board, but I've been working on plans for a serum that would render the DNAs of plants and animals into one universal language. Problem is, I haven't been able to create a Rosetta Stone for the botanical side. If you can crack the code and it works, we'll bring it to the board and they'll market it to the corporations."

 _Yeah, and I'll run for President._ She searched his face for any sign of a joke, worried when she found none. He was serious, and more than that, he wanted to pull her into it.

"You're not kidding, are you? Jason, do you know what you're asking me to do? We're not mad scientists! I'm not going to help you with anything that has the ability to turn flowers into frogs!"

"Theatrics aren't necessary, Pam. "scolded Jason, wagging a finger. "Hell, I'm not saying we'll create hybrids anytime soon, _or at all_. But you're a smart girl…think of the possibilities. What if we could inject the cancer fighting genetic material of a cycad into a patient's bloodstream and stop them from dying…or better yet, from getting sick?"

_A cure for cancer?_

Pam's breath caught in her throat. Her mother died of cancer when she was thirteen. It had been horrible to watch the woman who made her waste away, day by day until only the bed sheets were left.

 _No one else should have to lose someone like that._ She shuddered, and flicked her dead cigarette into the sink.

"What if I don't want to help?" It was a pointless question, and they both knew it; she was sold.

"Nothing, except an unfortunate malfunction in the school's system that'll suggest you falsified your lab data last semester."

"You wouldn't dare. I spent months conducting those trials!" gasped Pam, taken aback.

"I'd do more than dare Pam, and you know it. So do us both a favor," he set the bottle down and trapped her against the counter, his arms on either side. Kissing her cheek forcefully, he continued, "And just go with it, huh? Or I might be tempted to let some other minor details slip."

Pam's stomach lurched as he breathed heavily on her face, the scent of brandy overwhelming her nose, but did nothing. She went limp and let him drag her towards her room, understanding what was at stake if she didn't.

_Not again, please…_

Silent, heated tears streaked her face as her body hit the bed, the sheets scraping against her skin. Shutting her eyes tight, she cringed as he crawled on top her. Pam tried to imagine a place where monsters didn't exist.

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

"You were definitely there Harv! I distinctly remember you and Aunt Vivian cheering like maniacs when my name got called." chortled Ava, chewing a forkful of chocolate cake.

"Okay, so maybe I was a little overexcited, but it's only because I was happy to see you win that award…you deserved it." said Harvey earnestly, his cheeks flushing.

Ava smiled and took a sip of the wine Bruce had ordered for the table. Everything was going smoothly— she had spent most of dinner reminiscing with Harvey, uninterrupted by Rachel. The two shared laughs over stories of their past, and she remained relaxed with the help of liquid courage.

"Thanks Harv, but it was a prize for the high school literary magazine, not the Pulitzer."

"Yeah well, you meant a lot to me."

Ava stared at him, almost choking on the food in her mouth.

 _Did he really just say that?_ She wasn't sure if he realized what just came out of his mouth or if he didn't care, but either way she had to know.

"What do you mean?" she questioned, trying to sound composed.

"I mean," explained Harvey, looking her dead in the eye. "that I really cared for you, Aves. We spent almost every day together, remember?"

"We did, but that's only because you didn't want to go home to your dad." stated Ava, quirking her brow.

Harvey's father was an angry alcoholic who had a bottle of scotch glued to his hand and often got into fist fights with his son. Although Harvey tried to tell Ava that his black and blues were from a fall in gym or a household accident, she knew it was his father who hurt him after he came over one evening, injured. From then on, Ava's aunt allowed Harvey to stay over as long as he wanted, sometimes overnight.

 _Wonder if he told Rachel about him._ she wondered, fiddling with her bracelet. Something told her he hadn't. Rachel didn't strike her as one to ask about the past and she knew Harvey wouldn't bring it up on his own.

"True, I never wanted to go home to the bastard, but that was only part of it. Want to know a secret?"

"On or off the record?" questioned Ava bashfully, leaning in closer.

"Off. The last thing I need is for Rachel to hear this."

"My lips are sealed."

"I actually had a crush on you for the longest time." smiled Harvey, cupping a hand over his mouth. Ava's breath hitched, and her heart sped up.

 _What the hell?_ His words hit her like bricks, but she replied quickly.

"On me? How come you never said anything?" snickered Ava, refraining from asking the question she truly wanted to. _Do you still?_

"How could I, Aves? I mean, after what you'd seen, I figured you'd never like the kid with the screwed up life." explained Harvey, shrugging.

"Don't be stupid Harv, you were—are a great guy. Look at you, you're running for District Attorney! It doesn't matter where you came from…Besides, you were a pretty cute guy in high school." said Ava, bravely resting her hand on his.

_Take the hint, take the hint…_

Harvey's lips curled into a smile, and he made no attempt to jerk his hand away. She sloshed the wine around in her glass and took a sip, enjoying the nerve it had given her. Normally, she'd never have the audacity to hold a conversation with him, much less one where she flirted brazenly.

"Flattery gets you nowhere Aves." he laughed, stealing a momentary glance at her chest. It was casual, but she saw it, her stomach warming with pride. "I was five inches shorter and pimply."

"You weren't perfect; that's for sure." started Ava, enjoying his slight pout at her words. "But I'd say you're damn close now."

"And I'd say that you've achieved it. You're not the awkward girl with the chicken legs anymore." Ava turned so red that she was sure somebody could've used her as a stop sign. Her eyes darted to his lips, the urge to feel them against her own surfacing.

 _Not now, Aves._ The thought caught her off guard. Not now? He had a girlfriend already, and her position as Assistant District Attorney made them a better-looking couple to the public. _More like not ever._

Ava cast a quick glance at Rachel. She had been engrossed in conversation with Bruce all evening, and from the looks of it, they were pretty cozy. Her chin was in the palm of her hand, fascinated by whatever story Bruce was telling her.

_She doesn't seem too interested in Harvey._

"Thanks, Harv. There's something I've been meaning to ask you though." she paused and waited for his nod to continue."Don't take this the wrong way but…how'd you end up with that?" finished Ava, tossing her head in Rachel's direction.

"Who, Rach?" smirked Harvey, amused. "She's not that bad once you get to know her. We met last year after I transferred to GCPD's major crime unit. I helped her out on a few cases, we hit it off, and uh, here we are."

Ava nodded, half satisfied. His explanation was fine, but she didn't hear any true enthusiasm in his voice. He sounded nonchalant, as if he was speaking about the weather and not his girlfriend, but she let it go.

_No use pushing it tonight._

"What about you?" quizzed Harvey, shifting his hand so it covered her fingers. Ava stared down, smiling. "Do you have anyone?"

"I did, but we broke up a few months ago." Ava's smile faltered. She didn't speak about Derek often, mainly because of the bad memories it conjured. They dated for a hellish half year, most of which was spent in heated screaming matches and discontent.

"Oh, I…I'm sorry, Aves." struggled Harvey, unsure of what to say.

"It's fine Harv. I'm a whole city away from him now." stated Ava, smiling softly.

"Excuse me," their waiter butted in loudly, clearing his throat. "Can I get anything else for you tonight?"

His voice jolted both impromptu couples. Ava jerked her hand away from Harvey's and folded them in front of her, staving off a sudden surge of guilt. Rachel followed suit, sitting up rigidly and brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

She glared at Ava, eyes dropping to her restless hands. Ava returned the glare, switching to Bruce with a wicked smile before settling back to her.

"No, that'll be all." answered Bruce shortly.

"I think we end up with the wrong dates, no?" laughed a clueless Natascha, who had spent most of the night at the bar.

Ava smirked nervously, followed by Rachel, Bruce and Harvey. The ice was getting thicker by the second and Rachel was the first to break it.

"Bruce and I were just talking about the Batman."

"At the risk of my sounding ignorant, what is the _Batman_?" asked Ava, clearing her throat. Everyone's eyes were on her, first in shock, then in disbelief.

"You mean _who_ is the Batman, Ms. Madden." answered Bruce in a smoothed voice. "He's Gotham's crime-fighting vigilante. Doesn't Blüdhaven cover Gotham news?"

"Not until now. We have our own stories to report. But crime fighting vigilante? Isn't that what the police are for?" replied Ava, incredulous.

"Yes, but sometimes they're not enough. Gotham's a big place Ava, and the police can't be everywhere at once. Between thin resources and cop corruption, we need a hero like Batman. He's an ordinary citizen who stands up for justice. Batman's the hero this city needs." explained an emphatic Harvey.

"But this is a _democracy_ , Harvey. What Gotham needs is someone to make laws that keep people safe so we won't _need_ a Batman." piped Rachel.

"Exactly." agreed Natascha.

"When their enemies were at the gates, the Romans would appoint one man to protect the city. It wasn't considered an honor, it was considered a public service. "

That was Harvey's favorite line, the same one that won Dixon High countless debate competitions.

"Harv, the last man they appointed was Caesar and he never gave up his power." sighed Ava, looking at a quiet Bruce. His eyes shone with unreadable emotion, a cross between keen interest and lofty appraisal.

"Fine. You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain."

"That seems rather absolute." said Rachel, smiling.

"Well, you've sold me, Dent. I'm going to throw you a fundraiser." decided Bruce, breaking his silence.

"That's nice of you Bruce, but I don't need any—"

"I don't think you understand. One fundraiser with _my_ pals, you'll never need another cent. Ms. Madden, I trust your newspaper would benefit from exclusive coverage of the event?"

"It certainly would." agreed Ava. Harvey glared weakly at her.

"Then it's settled. I'll plan the event for a month from now." Bruce summoned the waiter with a flick of his wrist and proceeded to settle the check despite Harvey's protests.

Ava gathered her things and thanked each of them for a wonderful night. Walking out of the restaurant, she allowed her excitement to take over.

"I had a great time tonight, Harv." she said, sending one of the valets to grab a taxi.

"Me too, Aves. Call me for an interview sometime? I'd love to catch up a little more." he requested, hugging her.

"Oh don't worry, I will."

He left, crossing the street and opening his car. Rachel walked out of the restaurant and stood beside Ava under the awning while she waited for Harvey.

"It was nice to see you again, Ava."

"You too Rachel. You looked lovely." managed Ava, attempting civility.

"As did you. Isn't it funny how Harvey's tastes have matured?" replied Rachel coolly. Ava sensed the slight and bristled.

_You petty bitch._

"Not as funny as how close you were to Bruce. I bet his aftershave smelled nice, didn't it?"

Rachel said nothing, and Ava knew she had won. Her cab pulled up, and she got in, making sure to wave to Rachel through the window as it started toward Pam's.

In no time, Ava was back in her building, knocking on the door of apartment 117. She had forgotten to ask Pam for the key, but was certain that she'd be awake.

"Mel, it's me. Open up, these shoes hurt." There was some loud rustling and muffled footsteps on the other side. With a swift click, the door swung open, but it wasn't Pam who greeted her.

Instead, an older man towered over her. He had faint stubble on his fairly good-looking face and hints of gray in his auburn hair. He was clad in only a pair of black boxers, leaving his toned torso exposed.

"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly, giving her a once-over that chilled her spine.

 _He smells like a liquor store._ she thought, holding her breath.

"I live here. Where's Pam?"

"Oh, you must be her friend, Anna. She told me you were coming." He stepped aside, and she shimmied past him into the kitchen. The counter's ashtray had fresh butts in it.

"The name's _Ava_ , thank you very much." she corrected, rolling her eyes. "Who are you anyway?"

"Jay," yawned Pam, emerging from the darkened hallway in a pink t-shirt and underwear. "where did you—Ava!" Pam's grogginess turned to embarrassment as she saw her friend looking quizzically at Jason.

"Mel," began Ava, confusion in her voice. "who's this?"

"Aves, this is Jason. Jason, this is Ava." said Pam, pointed to the half-naked man.

"We've met." stated Ava, avoiding the man's eyes. "My question was, what is he doing here?"

"Listen, Pam's friend or not, no one— "

"Jay." reprimanded Pam. He narrowed his eyes at her, but calmed down. "He was just leaving, weren't you?"

Jason leered at Pam, and an unsettling smile crept onto his face. "Yeah. Yeah I'm on my way out." He disappeared down the hallway.

The girls were silent. Ava stared at her friend, who refused to look her in the eye. A moment later, Jason came out, fully dressed.

"Remember to call me about that project, okay?"

"I will." squeaked Pam, running her fingers through her hair. And just like that, he was gone.

They both sat down and Ava spoke first.

"Was that him?" There was no need for her to expound, it was clear what she meant.

Pam nodded, afraid to say anything.

"Mel, why didn't you tell me you were dating someone?"asked Ava, beginning to rant. She was hurt, not angry. "I'm practically you're sister! The least you could do is—"

"Because I'm not dating him!" shouted Pam, cutting her off. "Aves, he's my professor."

Ava took a second to think on what she'd said. _Professor? That'd explain why he's so old._

"What's the big deal, Mel? Lots of New York girls slept with their instructors."

"Aves, this isn't New York. GCU has a strict ethics code that forbids student-teacher dating. I could lose my credits, my internship, or get _expelled_. That's why I never told anyone. I know it sounds stupid, but I wasn't sure if I could trust you to know yet."

"Damn right it's stupid!" started Ava, smiling sadly at Pam. She gave her a warm hug and punched her arm softly. "Mel, you can trust me with _anything_ , okay? I won't tell anyone about you two, promise."

Pam laughed quietly and got up to dump the ashtray's contents in the garbage.

"Is that because of him?" asked Ava, watching her closely.

"Yeah, but I'm going to quit."

"You better, or I'll be forced to call my aunt. And we both know how much _she_ likes smokers."

"Please don't." grinned Pam, chucking the rest of the cigarette pack into the trashcan."I can't stand her fire and brimstone lectures. But enough about me, how'd your dinner go?"

"Amazing, actually." smiled Ava, kicking off her shoes. "Did you know Harvey had a crush on me when we were younger?"

"No he didn't." answered a shocked Pam, plopping next to Ava on the couch.

"It's true, he told me tonight! He also _held my hand_ Mel!" squealed Ava, her girly side surfacing.

"In front of Rachel? Never mind, start at the beginning I want to know _everything._ " demanded a rapt Pam.

Ava laughed and spun her tale, stopping frequently to answer Pam's crazy questions. By the time she was finished, she was even happier about the night than before. Looking at her phone, she decided to send him a message.

_Had a great time, talk to you soon._

"Very soon." she whispered, smiling.

* * *


	6. Hex

The restless tattoo of the song's bass thundered through the dark room, filling Ava's chest with its rhythm. Blue light came in frantic bursts, bringing her staggered images of the heady bedlam that was the dance floor. Warmth from the fiery colored liquid in her glass crawled into her cheeks and she swayed in time to the music, her lightheadedness increasing by the minute.

"I'll give it to you Mel, this _is_ better than what I had planned," shouted Ava, leaning on the slick bar counter.

"Told you a night out would do you good," replied Pam, sipping from a bubbling flute. "Besides, it's your first article in Gotham, you deserve to celebrate."

Ava nodded and surveyed the crowd as it twitched wildly to the beat. The club was filled with all kinds, and the air was electrifying. Out the corner of her eye, she saw a man prowling through the sea of people, glass in hand. Their eyes met and his lit up, but she quickly brought her attention back to Pam.

"Yeah, but I wish Harvey was here." It was more of a passing thought than an actual desire, but Pam heard it and scolded her immediately.

"Would you stop already? It's his loss if he didn't want to come. Now do me a favor, and get out there! You've been glued to your seat all night."

"I can fix that," suggested a deep-throttled voice. It was the man she had spotted before, and he was grinning at her. Ava eyed him curiously, sighing when Pam let out an obvious 'ooh' of approval.

"Can you?" quizzed Ava idly, trying her best to seem disinterested. Unfortunately, her lips betrayed her as they curled into a smile.

"Of course he can," answered Pam, taking Ava's drink from her.

"Dance with me," he offered, pulling gently on her hand. She fought an eye roll as her resolve crumbled, seeing his blue eyes' promise of a good time.

"I don't know—" tried Ava in a last attempt, only to be cut off.

"Just _go_ , Aves!"

Laughing, she got to her feet and let him lead her into the madness. In its thick, he pulled her against him, hands straying to either side of her hips. Relaxing, she locked her hands with his and leaned into him, their bodies moving as part of the beat.

The material of her teal dress slid higher on her clammy skin as he spun her around. His interest was apparent and her yearning grew with each passing second. Hot breath grazed her neck and she writhed in his grasp, slowly losing herself. She knew she was letting him go too far, that she should tell him to back off, but none of her cared; this wasn't about him. It was about turning his nameless face into something she recognized.

 _If I just close my eyes…_ thought Ava as he brought his face to hers. It worked, as she painted his whitish hair a dusty blonde and his blue eyes a steely grey.

_Looks better already._

A shrill scream rippled through the crowd, breaking the pair's impending contact.

Ava instantly stopped dancing and looked around for the source of alarm. She found it as a man was thrown from the VIP balcony, arms flailing as his face scraped the glowing acrylic dance floor. Jumping back, she stared at the scene unfolding above her, both awed and afraid.

_What the hell is that?_

A fight had broken out between four bodyguards and an odd shadow. In the darkness, she could make out a set of pointed ears as the assailant darted behind an unprepared man with a gun. With a flash of light and flick of the cape, the shadow had incapacitated the man, leaving him on the ground.

A shot rang out, inciting another round of screams. The shadow gripped the shooter's head and smashed it against the metal railing of the balcony with a resounding thud.

The other two tried in vain to defend themselves, teaming up on either side of their attacker. The portly one threw a clumsy punch that connected with only the air; the thinner one attempted to use a long knife, swinging madly in search of his target.

A hand firmly gripped her wrist and she tensed in momentary fear, relaxing when she saw it was Pam.

"Come on, let's get out of here!" Taking one last look behind, Ava saw the shadow snatch one of the frightened VIP's from his chair and vanish in a puff of smoke.

The girls shoved hurriedly through the skittering crowd, rushing from the seedy air of the club into the Gotham night. Cool air smacked Ava's skin and she shivered, wishing she had worn warmer clothes. She and Pam walked to their car, avoiding the side of the street with gaps between buildings.

"What just happened? Who was that guy?" demanded Ava, casting a glance over her shoulder. It was dark except for the gaudy lights of the Halcyon and glinting eyes of alley men unseen. People were streaming out of the club doors, their worried chatter ringing through the narrow walkway.

"That," answered Pam, speeding up as she fished her car keys from her purse. "was Batman."

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

"Three of a kind, let's do this," said the van's masked driver, a tuft of purple flossy hair poking the car's ceiling.

"That's it? Just you, me and Bozo over here?" questioned Chuckles, looking at the guy in the back seat.

Bozo's mask was that of a frowning clown, with angry blue brows and red-rimmed eyes that hid his black ones completely. He nodded quickly, gloved hands fumbling as he struggled to load a handgun. The magazine slipped from his fingers, sliding to the front seat.

"Geez, you really haven't done this before have you?" scowled Chuckles as he reached over and picked up the square black cartridge.

Bozo shook his head 'no' frantically, and eyed Chuckles curiously. His jacket flapped open, revealing another shiny pistol and a folded Damascus knife tucked into two threadbare pockets.

They'd do exactly what he hired them to: kill each other for a bigger share.

_They only care about the money._

"Amateur," spat Chuckles, shoving the fallen magazine into Bozo's hands. "Try not to drop it again, will ya?"

Pretending to flinch, Bozo waited until Chuckles turned around, chewing on his cheek in growing impatience. With all eyes off of him, he expertly loaded the gun, lips twitching as it locked with a pithy click.

"You forgot the two on the roof. Every guy gets a share, five shares: there's plenty."

"Six shares," corrected Chuckles, irritated. "Don't forget the guy who planned the job."

Wringing his purple gloves, Bozo narrowed his eyes and fidgeted with the gun. He'd be sure to kill him first.

"He thinks he can sit it out and still take a slice? Huh, I know why they call him the Joker."

 _You do?_ thought Bozo, stifling a laugh. His foot tapped wildly, and he forced himself to look out the window, to think about the reason he was there.

 _Start a fire, watch it burn._ The idea made him grin, cheeks straining against the confines of the mask. They'd learn—just a little chaos, a little mayhem and it would all be his.

The broad columns of Gotham National Bank snuck up on him, boasting their spiny flag poles. Pulling to the side entry, Chuckles and the driver got out, taking the duffle bags and extra M29's out the trunk.

Bozo hopped out the van, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Chuckles threw him a canvas sack, which he slung over his shoulder. The three slipped in the side door, guns in hand.

"Try not to do anything stupid," jabbed Chuckles, just behind him.

Bozo only tightened his grip on the gun, tempted to flick the safety off and shoot the idiot on sight. He knew it'd be satisfying to see the blood pool around his cold corpse, but not nearly as much watching him squirm at knifepoint.

 _He'll be dead soon enough._ The grin resurfaced, and he raised his eyes to the door just ahead of them. He checked his watch: 1:00 PM. At this rate, he'd be out of the bank in ten minutes, leaving him five before the mob found out.

All three of them looked at each other and nodded. They walked in, and the driver let a few warning shots ring out, a chorus of shrieks answering it.

The slight scent of gunpowder burned his nose as he ran to a terrified woman. Placing a grenade in her sweaty palms, Bozo let a slight giggle escape his throat at the woman's sorry pleadings.

_Time to light the match._

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

Ava darted across the street, waving an apologetic hand at the cars that swerved to avoid her. She could hardly believe her luck—a day-old bank robbery. She had just gotten out the shower, hair still wet, when Harvey sent her the tip. Haphazardly throwing on a sweater and jeans, she rushed out, hoping she didn't wake Pam.

_Gotham National Bank. Robbery. Get there fast._

"3rd and Jackson," she muttered, looking at the passing street sign.

 _One more block_.

The prospect of getting exclusive information from the police made the twelve block trek well worth it. She expected to report on news besides the election, but not this soon. A gritty bank robbery was the perfect thing for Blüdhaven headlines—it was interesting, and could be covered even after a suspect was arrested.

_Harding will have to promote me after this._

Blüdhaven hadn't had a good glamour crime since the Ankh robberies last year. Two men went on a spree, raiding Egyptian artifacts from the famed Jorgenson Museum. The city was abuzz, and newspaper sales were at an all-time high—everyone wanted to read the latest chapter of the real-life mystery. The _Sun_ could barely supply its vendors with enough copies for the morning.

Since then, filler articles took the place of big news. If this article ran, she'd be known as 'the girl who broke the big story', a title that would probably include a substantial raise.

Yeah, this was definitely the story her city needed.

Ava gasped at what was ahead. The bank was wrapped in yellow crime scene tape that spanned all six columns of the broad entrance, but that wasn't what caught her attention. Rather, it was the huge hole that had been ripped in the building's side. Sparking, exposed wires and displaced bricks framed the unintended window. Only a plastic tarp hung in the void, a temporary barricade that was constantly opened and shut by officers rushing about.

Running to it, she was careful to steer clear of the police cars that were parked by the tape. Ava hastily pressed her back against an opposite wall as a detective stormed from behind the curtain, followed by four other officers. Her breath quivered as the woman barked an order into a radio.

 _Why am I hiding?_ came the unanswerable question. There weren't any reporters on site yet, but that was no reason to stay hidden. Every city's police force shared information with the press—surely Gotham did too. If anything, she could gain a new contact, and the detective would be more inclined to share details with one journalist instead of fifty.

"I need two more forensic teams and a psych analyst stat."

 _Psych analyst?_ That was different. Ava had never a heard of a psychologist being called to a robbery. Then again, she had never covered a criminal story before. _That's my in._

Armed with only her voice recorder, she stepped forward, careful to remain out of sight.

"Why would the police need a psych analyst?" questioned Ava, standing behind the detective. The woman whirled around in fright first, then annoyance.

"What the hell?" she started, aggravated. "How'd the vultures get here already? We kept all the snitches out!"

"I have my sources," replied Ava, taken aback by the detective's rudeness. "I just want to ask a few questions Officer—"

"It's _Detective_ Ramirez to you, and don't you know we can't comment on ongoing investigations? Who are you, anyway? You don't look familiar."

"Ava Madden, _Blüd Sun_. Can you at least tell me if you have any suspects? Witnesses? _Anything_?" she persisted, searching for any kernel that could fuel a story.

"No! I haven't even heard of that paper! Now get out of here, some of us have _real_ jobs to do."

_You call yelling into a radio a real job?_

Ava bristled but stayed quiet, aware that getting into a screaming match wouldn't be in her best interest.

"Well, if you find anything that you _can_ share, would you mind calling me?" she asked pleasantly.

Ramirez's frown faded and she eyed Ava curiously.

"You're not the usual vulture are you? No angry rants about freedom of the press, no threats to call my captain—you're different," said Ramirez, examining the business card Ava had given her. "Look, I can't promise anything. But if something comes up, I'll let you know."

"Thanks."

Ramirez nodded passively and started off towards a cluster of officers by the yellow tape. Ava watched her, hoping that she'd tuck the card into her pocket, or at least hold it in her hand. Instead, the detective threw it on the ground without so much as a thought.

 _Really?_ fumed Ava, staring after her. _Would it kill you to act like you gave a damn?_

Huffing, she tried to sneak back to her hiding place, scowling when she saw two cops leaning on it. She thought of asking them a few questions, but thought better of it when they glared at her.

 _How am I supposed to get anything from these people?_ wondered Ava, now frustrated.

All the interviews she'd ever conducted were straightforward: simple questions, simple answers. People had refused to meet with her, but that was usually remedied with a call to a restaurant manager or store supervisor; she hadn't had anyone deny or deliberately lie to her.

Beyond harassing the police department, which would likely end up earning her the label of 'vulture' and a spot on the police blacklist, there was nothing she could do. Swiveling on her heel, she walked away, the voices of the police drifting further and further.

_Won't be needing this anymore._

Ava sighed, flicking the power button on her voice recorder. Tucking it into her pocket, she concentrated on getting to the train station, picking up her pace.

It had been almost two weeks since she came to Gotham, and it was becoming more familiar every day. Though its nighttime skyline still held plenty of whimsy, she was no longer daunted by the prospect of traveling by herself. In fact, she had taken a liking to wandering the blocks around Pam's apartment in University Row.

Gotham was triple the size of Blüdhaven and she had yet to figure out which parts were dangerous, but the city was finally growing into a place that seemed like home.

A dull cardboard poster waved to her right and she read it, instantly wishing she hadn't.

Hello, I've lost everything.

My car, home and job are all gone and I don't have money for food.

Please help, anything will do.

That was something she'd never get used to, no matter where she was: the homeless. They tugged at her heartstrings every time, locked her in a moral dilemma she could never win. The dirtied hands, the sad eyes; she couldn't help but give them something.

Ava fished a few crumpled dollars from her pocket and dropped it into a chipped coffee can.

"Thank you," managed a stooped woman through a mass of old sweaters. Slumped against a fire hydrant, her belongings were crowded at her legs. A holey knit sleeve revealed a grimy thumbs-up, and Ava returned it with a sad sobriety.

She was about to leave when something else caught her eye. It was in the garbage can next to the hydrant, under a thin layer of discarded newspapers and half-full coffee cups.

Curious, she approached it, making the hazy connection.

Gingerly peeling away a coffee soaked copy of the _Gotham Gazette_ , Ava gasped at what she saw. The mask was smeared with blood. Underneath its painted red eyes and blue frown were spatters of crusted crimson.

Hesitant, she picked it up. There were no theaters in the Financial District and she couldn't think of any other reason a mask would be covered in blood.

_One of the robbers must've used it!_

The realization sparked both excitement and apprehension. She looked behind her at the bank, cops and newly arrived reporters swarming around the hole in the wall. As if on cue, her conscience spoke up, urging her to a higher standard than the 'finders keepers' rule.

"Excuse me," started Ava, looking at the bundle. The sweaters shifted and a pair of pale blue eyes met hers. "Have the police been down this block yet?"

"No, I haven't seen 'em." Ava strained to hear the muffled words over the roar of a passing bus. "Hope they don't come here or they'll make me move."

 _Well, if no one's seen it…_ she rationalized, carefully wrapping the molded face in one of the papers. _They won't miss it._

Dropping it into her purse, Ava nodded at the bundled woman and started off. She picked up her pace, slight paranoia setting in.

 _What if they come looking for it?_ _What if they figure out I took it?_

She bumped into a man and her breath stopped, exhaling only when she saw he wasn't donning a black and blue uniform.

Her stomach eased as she put another three blocks between her and the bank, another question flooding her thoughts.

 _Where the hell do I go from here?_ There was one answer, and she didn't like it. Hustling through the faceless crowd, Ava sighed, knowing she had no other choice.

_He didn't even call._

Ignoring the slight float of her stomach and surge of anger that followed it, she crossed the street and hiked six blocks to the bus stop. Under its plexiglass pavilion, Ava tried to steady her already-strained nerves.

She had a bloody mask in her bag, a mask that could lead to the biggest story of her career and here she was worrying about a stupid phone call.

The bus's screeching cleared her distracted fog and she ran in, panicky as she heard a siren's wailing in the distance. She sat down, pressing the lump in her bag to make sure it was really there.

The orange letters on the bus arrival sign told her she was either insane or incredibly arch.

_Next stop: City Hall and Welling Square._

"Time to find out."


	7. Cacoethes

Ava crossed her legs, feeling ridiculously underdressed. Skirts and suits floated by, largely oblivious to her presence in the near vacant waiting area. Those that did regarded her with only a quizzical glance or nod of the head. _How does he work here?_ she wondered, caged by the overstuffed chairs to her left and right. Her fingers drummed anxiously against her leather bag, the slight clacking reminding her of why she had even come.

_This damn mask._

Impatience built with each passing second and she doubted whether the girl at the front desk told her the truth.

"He'll be back at eleven," she said with a shiny plastic smile.

Ava checked her watch: 11:15.

Rashly, she stood up and decided to leave.

 _I don't have time for this._ she concluded, following the path that snaked through a maze of cubicles and green bankers' lamps.

 _But you don't have any other options._ It was the voice of reason that drove her back to the cramped seat. Huffing, she opened her purse and peered inside, making sure that her golden ticket was still there.

A wadded ball of newspaper stared back at her, vaguely tucked into the shape of a face. Satisfied, she cupped her chin in the palm of her hand and hummed absently.

A familiar voice broke the monotony.

"Ava?" asked Harvey, nearing the chairs. "Kate told me you were waiting. What are you doing here?"

Ava immediately perked up, a worried frown surfacing.

"I need to talk to you. Now," she said, voice dropped to an irritated whisper. She could see the confusion in his eyes, but he only nodded and walked off, beckoning for her to follow. Trailing behind, she suppressed another wave of anger and focused on what she was there for.

Harvey stopped at an office centered between two cubicle rows and opened the door, holding it open. She hurried in, almost tripping on a plant pot.

He stood on the side of his desk and gestured for her to sit.

"No thanks, I've sat for the last fifteen minutes," bit Ava.

Harvey shrugged guiltily and stood up.

"Suit yourself. Did you get my text this morning?" he asked anxiously, eyes darting between her and the window that let him see out into the hallway.

"That's why I'm here, Harv. I found something you might want to take a look at."

"Really?"

Ava nodded, suddenly unsure about showing him.

_Well, you're here now._

"You might want to close those first," she said, tossing her head at the blinds on the office window. "Wouldn't want anyone prying."

Harvey quickly shut them and perched eagerly on the edge of his desk.

"I went to the bank like you said, and there was a huge hole in one of the walls. It was crazy: the police were everywhere and the place was wrapped in caution tape," explained Ava, taking a moment to catch her breath. "Anyway, I tried to find out what happened and some girl named Ramirez shooed me off. I was walking back and found this."

With that, she handed him the paper covered mask. He quirked a brow.

"Just open it."

Doubtfully, he did, slightly disgusted by the cheap ink that rubbed off the newsprint. A gasp filled the room as Harvey came face to face with the mask, blood still intact.

"I think one of the robbers used it. Maybe you could get it tested?" suggested Ava sheepishly. She watched him for a reaction, but he simply stared at it, face blank.

After what seemed like an eternity, he looked up, a mix of surprise and concern.

"Did they see you take this?"

The question was pointed, and Ava was put off by the chill in his voice.

"Of course not. Do you really think I'd be that stupid?" she replied heatedly. "It was a couple blocks from the bank and they hadn't searched that far."

His shoulders sagged in relief, but he quickly tensed again, realizing his blunder.

"No," started Harvey abruptly, then fumbling. "You know that's not what I meant, Aves. It's just—do you know what you just brought me?"

"A major PR boost? I know, they'll love you for working with the police," she drawled, narrowing her eyes. "…but I expect something in return."

"Anything you want." answered Harvey intently, meeting her stare.

 _Anything?_ A smile crept onto her face, mind contemplating the possibilities. Settling on one, she was instantly serious.

"Just one thing for now. But first, a question."

"Shoot."

Harvey's eyes danced with curiosity and he braced on a bookshelf.

"Why didn't you come with Mel and I last night?"

That struck him. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, sighing.

"I wanted to but—"

"See?" interrupted Ava, with a sharp laugh. "Right there—you didn't answer the question. I don't care that you wanted to, I want to know why you _didn't_."

"The ballet. Rachel and I were supposed to go, but Bruce took the whole troupe to China on his yacht," struggled Harvey. He was squirming, but Ava couldn't bring herself to care.

"And you couldn't have called? I was looking forward to going out with both of you since last Friday!"

"I'm sorry. Really, I am."

He stepped closer to her, eyes pleading, and Ava softened.

 _Damn it, Harvey…_ She could never stay upset at him for long, especially when he gave her that look.

"Don't give me those eyes. I'm mad at you," she whined reluctantly.

He put his hand on her shoulder and she flushed.

_Keep it together, Aves._

"Last night I was thinking," he hesitated, licking his lips. Ava's eyes darted to them, and she forced herself to focus. "I don't want to go through life thinking about things I should've done, risks I should've taken. Sure, I'm running for D.A., but that doesn't mean I want to have regrets because something I want to do might seem 'improper'."

The last words lingered in the air, laden with the unsaid.

"Is there a point here?" whispered Ava in an attempt to play coy.

Harvey closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, stepping yet closer to her. She froze, suddenly realizing what he meant. Back against the wall, she fought to keep her heart from racing.

"My point is," he started, tilting her face to his. "I don't want to keep wondering about this."

Without warning, he closed the remaining gap and lowered his mouth onto hers. Fire flared in her veins and she groaned, the initial shock of the kiss wearing off; his hands found her waist and she sighed, locking her arms around his neck. Their tongues tangled, and heat swelled in her body. As the moments passed, she wanted more, wanted to keep this fire smoldering at any cost. Her fingers clawed a mass of blonde hair and reeled him in.

_Closer._

It was the only thought she had, self-control waning with each fleeting second. To her dismay, Harvey pulled away, utterly flustered. With a growl of disappointment, Ava's hazel eyes fluttered open, a brew of lust and satisfaction.

"What'd you think?" she asked, stunned breathless. The rose in her cheeks burned bright and her lips pouted.

"I think I should've done that a long time ago," exhaled Harvey, smoothing his hair. "…and we can never do that again."

"Why not? Don't tell me you didn't like it," laughed Ava breathily. Her inhibitions died with the kiss— impulse was speaking for her now.

"Damn it Ava, I _loved_ it. That's exactly why we can't."

He turned his back to her and began to pace.

 _I can't believe he did that…I did that…_ we _did that._ she thought, the adrenaline fading.

"You said it yourself—no regrets. We both know there's something here, so do me a favor," cooed Ava, stepping in front of him. He shook his head feebly, but she knew she had him. "and go with it."

Running a hand through his hair, he gave her a not-so-subtle once over.

"You're more than a plaything, Aves. You mean something to me...you always have."

"Okay, so we treat this differently," shrugged Ava, gripping his shoulders. "take it as it comes. But we can't ignore it—I like you, you like me, proper or not."

He nodded, trying to convince himself that this was a good idea. Ava returned the smile he offered her and glanced at the mask.

"Do you know what hospital the witnesses are in?" she asked, mind returning to her work.

 _Still need a story_.

"Gotham General, in the ICU. If you call, you should be able to get an interview with some of them."

"I'll head over there now." she said, resting her bag's strap on her shoulder. She stopped in front of Harvey, a wry smile on her face.

"Would you be up for sushi on Saturday?" asked Harvey hopefully.

Ava's grin widened.

"It's a date." She reached up and kissed his cheek, relishing the sound of the word. Opening the door, she turned around.

"Oh and Harv? You might want to wipe the lipstick off your lips."

She snickered and at his horrified expression and walked out. Triumphantly strutting the way she had come, she had to smile. Too many years and a suppressed crush later, she had _done_ it.

Though unsure of what today meant for them, something told her this wasn't last time she'd kiss Harvey Dent.

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

 Gotham's skyline rivaled the dim stars above, burning with the light of a thousand galaxies. The night weighed on Harvey's shoulders, and he shivered at the sudden wind that kicked up. He had both hands behind his back, an iron grip on the blood, white and blue mask. Whispers of the city below ghosted around him, haunting his ears and taunting his mind. Anxious, he walked the length of the gravel-crusted rooftop.

_He said he'd be here by now._ It wasn't fear that reminded him of Gordon's words, but anticipation. He arranged the meeting right after Ava left and spent the rest of his day impatiently watching the clock. If tonight went well, he was near-guaranteed to become D.A.

 _The power to clean Gotham._ He let out a chilled breath, watching it wisp and vanish into the blackness.

He'd thought about the possibilities for a while, formulating a plan that he believed would reduce the city's crime. It all seemed so expansive—an endless sea of cartels, gangs and murderers. But after weeks of planning, he'd found the largest source of Gotham's problems: the mob.

 _They'll go first._ He stared at the upper atrium door, half expecting a mustache and a pair of coke bottle glasses to slip through.

Five minutes passed. Nothing.

Sighing, he decided to wait a little while longer.

His mind tossed idle thoughts, finally settling on Ava. He shook his head in disbelief— it was almost surreal: there would be no more wondering what she'd taste like, if she wanted him too. Grinning wildly, it set in—he had finally _done_ it…and screwed himself over in the process.

 _Rachel…_ The name brought an involuntary frown to his face and a sharp pang of guilt to his chest. He wasn't the type of guy that juggled multiple women at once; he had enough trouble with one. Rachel was attractive, engaging and witty—all things he admired in a woman. Yet, there was something about Ava that drew him in, made him curious. Maybe it was their friendship; maybe it was the way she chewed on her lip whenever she got nervous. In either case, Harvey didn't care—he wanted to ignore logic for a little while and see where it led.

_I can't wait to—_

"You had something to show me?" questioned a wearied voice.

Harvey was torn from his daydream by the words of Jim Gordon, Gotham's veteran lieutenant.

"I do," said Harvey, eyeing Gordon as he neared. His sleepy eyes rested in the hollows behind his glasses and his lips were pursed in a thin line. "What took you so long?"

"Harvey," started Gordon, an irritated sigh catching on the word. "crime is up twenty percent since last year and every cop in Major Crimes comes to me with their problems. Sorry if I'm late to a meeting with the guy who isn't even D.A."

"I wouldn't count me out just yet. Not after what I found today."

"And that would be?" asked Gordon, a hint of interest shining in his dull brown eyes.

Harvey said nothing, but took the mask from behind his back. "This. It's from—"

"The GN bank robbery," finished a suspicious Gordon. "Where the hell did you get this? My men cased the surrounding blocks and found nothing."

"Apparently they didn't look well enough. You could run this one for DNA—still has blood on it," proposed Harvey, a smug smile in his voice.

Gordon's frown deepened.

"Impossible. There were no fingerprints and all our leads went cold."

"Well, this one hasn't," said Harvey, tilting the mask so Gordon could see the red stains. "And I'm willing to let you have it…for a price."

"What do you want, Dent?"

"I want to be kept in the loop—no secrets. I want to know when and where things happen. And I want in with the Batman."

"What makes you think I'd have any idea about the Batman?" scoffed Gordon, eyes betraying him.

Harvey gave a short laugh and answered. "Don't patronize me. Weurtz and Ramirez are the dirtiest cops on your squad! They can't keep their mouths shut. You only have two options—either you let me in, or I throw this mask and let it fall ten storeys to the ground. See how well it holds up then."

Gordon was furious, but it didn't show. Only his eye twitched, and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

"You're in no place to give me ultimatums _or_ talk about my people," growled Gordon, barely controlled.

"Really?" questioned Harvey, walking to the edge. He held the mask over the neon sea below, a defiant smirk on his face. "Then you can have the privilege of telling Mayor Garcia your case went cold because you refused to work with me."

Gordon's gaze was fixed on the mask, horror on his face. The empty eyes glowed with the blaring light below, mocking him with each flicker. He debated silently, eyes constantly switching between the mask and Harvey. Harvey watched Gordon's struggle and waited, keeping a vice grip on the mask.

 _He'll crack_.

A gusty shriek of wind brought an answer with it.

"Fine—just take that damn mask away from the ledge!" conceded the incensed lieutenant. "I'll call you when I have something. Not a word of this to any of your people—I don't trust lawyers farther than I can see them."

"It's not me you have to worry about. After all, I'm not the one with a leak in their team," replied Harvey, walking back to the door. "Oh, and Gordon? If you try to screw me, I'll let Garcia know you're keeping dirty cops on the force. "

Gordon glowered, but Harvey kept his gaze level and handed him the mask. Without another word, he strode to the upper atrium door and opened it.

"You're a real two face, y'know that?" called Gordon, studying the fake face in his hands. Satisfied with what he saw, he carefully slid the mask into his zippered jacket.

Harvey looked over his shoulder, a Cheshire grin on his face. "So I've been told."

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

 "Killer Clowns Rob Gotham Bank: Police Investigation Becomes a Three Ring Circus?"

_My first front-pager!_ thought Ava, staring at the _Gotham Globe_. The paper had run her story and even used her picture of the mask as the cover photo. She kicked her feet up on the living room table and opened the newspaper, pride soaring as she scanned the story.

 _And you said it couldn't be done._ she snorted, thinking of her boss's words just a few days ago. She had spent days conducting survivor interviews and gathering information for the _Sun_ , believing that Harding would jump at the opportunity to publish Gotham's dirt—his reaction was just the opposite.

" _Are you crazy? Sales are up thanks to your election articles—Harvey's all the rage, kid. No one wants to hear about a bank robbery at a time like this. Just keep sending your assignment stories and stay away from the heavy stuff, okay?"_

Outrage was the only emotion she could muster after that phone call; she wasn't going to let Harding's instructions get in the way of a big scoop, no matter how "heavy" it was. But she appeased him and sent her latest campaign update to the _Sun_.

The next day, she approached the _Globe_ with the robbery. They had already run a small feature on it, but none of their staff reporters got to interview the survivors before the police showed up at Gotham General. Needless to say, the paper was more than willing to sensationalize the theft and pay her generously for her writing.

"I'm proud of you, but that's the fourth time you've looked at it this morning. Take it easy." yawned Pam, groggily sipping her coffee.

"Sorry," giggled a guilty Ava, setting the paper on the couch. "I'm just excited! They offered to make me a part-time member of their staff! Can you believe that? I'll have a reputation in both cities."

Pam's brow rose, and she perked up at Ava's last words.

"Slow down, you're making me nervous. I hate to break it to you, but now that your name's on the big story, you're a target—Gotham's a lot more dangerous than Blüd, Aves. Whoever robbed that bank isn't going to be happy you put all that dirt in the papers."

Ava stifled her laughter and tried to assuage Pam's fears.

"Don't you think that's a bit out there, Mel? I mean really, no one knows anything about me—where I live, what I look like." assured Ava, hardly concerned; Pam stared. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

 Stringy green hair fell in a curtain in front of his face, blocking his view of the desk. He pushed it back with a snarl and continued his work, black and red markers strewn haphazardly across the rotting wood. His arm moved back and forth furiously, scribbling at random on newsprint.

"Ava, Ava, Ava," mumbled Joker, finishing a jagged 'HA' in the center of the page. His black eyes flicked to the bolded name at the top of the article.

 _I'll have to pay her a visit soon._ The thought was hysterical, and a shrill peal of laughter sliced through the warehouse. He didn't want anyone to know who he was just yet, but hey, what harm could a little publicity do? If anything, it'd light a fire under the mob, make them do something stupid—well, worse than they already had.

"T-h-a-n-k y-o-u," he spelled, sprawling the message next to the title. Carefully, he drew an arrow to her name and made a black eyed, red-lipped smile beneath it. Violently, he pushed away from the desk, satisfied with his work. The paper was stained black with written laughter and the headline read:

"Killer Clowns Rob Gotham Bank: MY Three Ring Circus"

"Boss?" called Dopey. The goon shifted from one foot to the other, looking at the ground. "I-It's time."

Rolling down the sleeves of his grey shirt, the Joker stared disinterestedly at the man in front of him.

"Is it?" Dopey nodded, visibly shaken. He was stocky, and had at least twenty pounds on the scarred man in front of him. Still, he quaked, afraid to look his employer in the eye.

 _The power of fear._ It was a lesson he couldn't wait to teach Gotham. They thought the mob was something to fear? He'd show them; he'd take one of theirs and make them see: no one's above chaos.

"Then load the van." He was aggravated now, smacking his lips and stalking to the chair that held his coat. He shrugged it on, careful not to jostle the grenades he had wired into the lining. Closing his eyes, he let an angry smile stretch his scars until they scraped the lobes of his ears.

_Come out and play._

He frowned—Dopey was still there. "NOW!" The goon skittered off to the far side of the loading dock, far away from the footsteps that thundered behind him.

Wrapping he dummy trigger string around his finger, the Joker tore the passenger side door open and jumped into the seat. Without a word, Dopey revved the engine and pulled out of the garage, eyes constantly drifting to the painted man at his right.

"Something wrong with your eyes?" asked Joker, licking his lips dangerously.

"N-No, nothing." replied Dopey, grip tightening on the steering wheel—his knuckles were white.

"Then drive before I give you something to look at." The threat was noted, and the goon navigated through the labyrinth of The Old Industrial Sector.

Only one thought reverberated in the Joker's head as they headed for the Gotham City Bridge, forcing another laugh from his throat.

_Ready or not, here I come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cacoethes is Latin for "bad habit."


	8. Red Flags and Long Nights

Pam knew, as she tiptoed through the sterile Development room of Innovacorp, that this wasn't a place she should be. There were no familiar signs of S.T.A.R.—no desks littered with lab reports, no stooped doctors asking her to run tests on a new batch of samples. Only pristine white desks and gleaming computers marked the alien space. She inhaled deeply and pushed a stray lock of red hair from her face, looking ahead to Jason.

He slithered through the rows of microscopes and centrifuges, completely aloof. Dressed up for a change, he swapped his usual sweater vest in favor of a tailored suit that framed his shoulders nicely.

 _Don Giovanni_ , she scoffed silently, pulling at the plunge of her green gown, _I wish._

If only they were at the opera, things would be simpler. That's where they were supposed to be tonight—the ticket in her clutch said so. But it said other things too, like the ID swipe card that told her she was Innovacorp employee 001842.

 _I hadn't even heard of this place before now._ Pam did her homework on Innovacorp, and what she found scared her. They were a subsidiary of Axis Defense Systems, a company known for being talent sharks. They aggressively pursued new technologies and recruited innovative minds to develop them. Whatever they touched turned to gold, and they usually bankrupted their competitors.

She wasn't sure how he'd managed it, but whoever Jason got this project from was a force to be reckoned with.

Room R467's cold air raised goose bumps on her arms and she shivered, suddenly wishing she'd told Ava where she was going. True, this wasn't exactly a project she could talk about, but the lab's thick silence scared her.

"You know what to do. Will you be done tonight?" Jason eyed her chest with a bored smirk. The stare was unwavering as he shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Those were the first words he had spoken all night—no 'you look nice', not even a _hello_.

 _I know what to do?_ seethed Pam silently, grabbing a black whiteboard marker from a white pencil cup. Of course she did—this was her fourth visit in the last two weeks. That didn't mean he had to be so insensitive about it.

"Yeah," quipped Pam without so much as a glance in his direction. Silently, she picked up where she left off, sprawling variables and numbers next to Jason's already crowded board.

 _He has the easy part,_ she thought, carefully wedging a delta between an H12 and O6. His equation was simple—an algorithm for the human gene code; it was basic stoichiometry, something all organic science majors mastered in their second year. She, however, was charged with the lovely task of translating botanical processes into something the human body could perform. No successful attempts had been documented, but Pam was willing to try, if only to keep her lab grades intact.

_And it's taking me three all-damn-nighters._

Quietly, she forced her mind to focus, aware that Jason was just behind her, watching her every move. Looking at the projected 8:58 on the wall, she concealed her anxiety and immersed herself in the sea of symbols. While the austere room was alarming, she found solace in her work. It was predictable—sigmas would always be sigmas, and every element had its unique place on the periodic table. Boron would never be in oxygen's place, and the equation for photosynthesis wouldn't spontaneously gain a few moles of neon.

 _Things make sense._ That was more than she could say for her situation. She'd become increasingly scared of Jason. He had the ability to be either extremely kind, or insanely frightening. It was something she was blind to before, but it was disturbingly clear now. The last two times he'd picked her up for a "date", his benevolent charm won even the skeptical Ava. He'd brought a bottle of vintage wine to the apartment, toasting to 'the discovery of new things'; that pleasantry was promptly dropped once they got into his black BMW.

He was at once manic and subdued, reminding her of all the things he'd do if she failed.

" _No room for error Pammy," he said a week ago, barely looking at her. She rose at that—no one had called her 'Pammy' in ages. "Or you'll say goodbye to your seat at S.T.A.R."_

" _Don't talk to me," spat Pam, fixing him with a glare of pure rage—she still couldn't believe he'd leverage her like this. It made her sick just thinking about what was at stake._

" _Watch it,"_ _growled Jason, staring back at her. "You're lucky I even asked you to work on this. What we're doing will change the world of science forever. And here you are, pouting over your silly lab grade? Grow up."_

" _The only thing 'silly' here is the fact that I slept with a sorry bastard like you," mumbled Pam, gazing crossly out the window. Oh, he didn't like that at all. In a flash, his fingers clenched her wrist, squeezing until her pale skin flushed pink._

_"Open your mouth one more time and see if I won't make you regret it."_

_Determined, she met his gaze and gritted her teeth. Jason leveled her with a sardonic smile, relishing the control he had over her. Against her will, Pam let a painful whimper escape her lips. He tightened his grip, and she knew that with any more force he'd seriously injure her. Defeated, she admitted his strength. "You're hurting me."_

_With a snort of contempt, he threw her limp wrist back into her lap and turned his eyes to the road. "Pathetic."_

She blinked, trying to purge herself of the memory. _Concentrate—_ that's exactly what she did.

Throwing herself into the elaborate mess on the board, she wrote furiously, letting the equation's complexity govern her every movement.

 _Na and Br, OH and Fe_ , she mouthed, drawing an arrow sign between the two compounds. Quietly, she slipped further and further away from the present and into a fantasy world where everything was a pretty puzzle piece. Cracking the code was her top priority, and she intended complete it—no more lying to Ava, no more worrying about the state of her doctorate.

_This ends tonight._

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

 "Alright," laughed Ava, crossing her legs and sipping green tea. "This _almost_ makes up for Friday."

She had to give it to him: Harvey had good taste. The lounge he had chosen was modern, but elegant—rolling wooden waves framed the ceiling and sloped to meet leather booth seats; the décor was stark but impressive, and the atmosphere lent an intimacy that, given the circumstances, she welcomed with open arms. This more than made up for a night of mindless clubbing, but she would never tell him that.

_Still have to give him hell._

"Almost makes up for it?" smiled Harvey through a piece of salmon sashimi. "Aves, this is the hottest sushi place in Greater Gotham!"

"And that excuses the fact that you skipped out on a night with your two best friends?" countered Ava easily, challenge in her eyes. She chewed a piece of tempura and tried to keep a straight face.

"Best friends? This is coming from the girl who laughed at me when I asked Nicole Suthers on a date?" teased Harvey, brow quirked.

That did it. She tried to contain her laugh, but it burst from her throat, forcing a loud snort that garnered stares from a nearby table. Nicole was everything Harvey wasn't—vapid, pretentious and wholly consumed by a callow sense of entitlement. With a flick of her hair extensions and a bat of her false lashes, Harvey was smitten. He literally chased after her for a good six months, believing that a wide eyed, lanky freshman could impress her, the sought after senior.

" _Harvey," she'd say, blushing, "Nicole doesn't even know your name. There are plenty of real girls that would love a guy like you."_ Of course, Harvey would answer with some ignorant comment about Nicole being 'the prettiest girl at Dixon High'.

It all came to a head when Harvey asked Nicole to Freshman Formal. He was so nervous that he shook, but he mustered his nerve and approached her at lunch. When Nicole answered him with only a falsetto laugh, Harvey looked to his friends for some sort of encouragement—they were too busy laughing at him. He didn't talk to Pam and Ava for three days after that.

"Sorry I wasn't ecstatic about you asking Plastic Surgery Barbie to a dance," came Ava's snide remark.

"You've always had a spiteful streak Aves," said Harvey, his chest rumbling with laughter, "Are you up for a game?"

Ava eyed him with a wicked smile. "Depends what I have to do."

"Don't worry, it has nothing to do with chopstick walruses. It's simple really—give a secret, get a secret."

"Sounds fairly easy," replied Ava, her heart speeding up a bit, "You start."

Harvey gripped his chin and thought for a moment, leaving Ava anxious.

 _Please, nothing too deep,_ she thought, biting into a veggie roll. _Tell me you hate getting up on Monday's or you hate mangoes or you can't stand day old pizza._

It wasn't that she minded sharing secrets with Harvey. After all, they had grown up together. But things had changed—they weren't the same people. That alone sparked a flutter in her chest. She had memories she wasn't proud of, actions she wish she could undo; those weren't stories she was willing to share given the 'fresh start' she was supposed to be making.

"I'm terrified of running for D.A." He had sufficiently started their game with a _bang_.

_Looks like I'll be taking that little black book out tonight._

"Then why are you running?" All things considered, the secret wasn't much of a stretch—Harvey never liked the ugly side of politics. The hypocrites and corruption used to spur impassioned rants that would go on for hours. Ava remembered trying to calm him down by telling him he'd be the man put an end to it all.

_Guess he took it to heart._

"Because Gotham needs someone to take care of it. Batman does a damn good job, but he can't be the city's only levy; the mob's out there, terrorizing innocent people. Yesterday, a woman was killed by a ricochet bullet during a gang gunfight in the Narrows. Sure, Batman can get to them at night, but the citizens of Gotham need to know that its officials aren't afraid to take a stand in broad daylight."

"And you're always the man for the job?" she asked without missing a beat, "Harvey, the world's not your personal gauntlet; you don't have to accept _every_ challenge it throws at you."

"No, I'm not always the man. But the Falconi's and Maroni's have reigned too long. No one else is willing to go after them, so I will. I _have_ to."

He took a deep breath and allowed the red in his face to fade before whispering, "It's your turn."

"I uh…I don't know what to say," stammered Ava, suddenly nervous. _More like what not to…_

"Tell me anything."

"Okay…" She dug her fingers into her palm and attempted something cavalier, "I hate spiders."

_Way to go. Now you sound like an idiot._

"Ava, that's hardly a secret. You hate every type of bug," joked Harvey, "Really though, I told you my deepest fear; the least you could do is make up a fun secret."

"Fine."

She wracked her brain for something substantial. Surely Harvey didn't want to hear about her Saturday night tradition of hot chocolate and black and white comedies. Searching, sifting, she finally found something gasp-worthy. It was the Great Pumpkin of her secrets, and she reserved it for serious bragging occasions. This was one of them.

"I once spent the night running from the police," said Ava roguishly, tousling her hair.

_Top that._

Harvey's eyes widened and a smile broke on his face. Interestedly, he inquired: "And how did that one come about?"

"Sigma Phi Alpha's infamous 'Frost Run'; it's a silly New York tradition. Each new pledge is required to run from the Bow Bridge, under the Park Tunnel Pass, and stop at the Alice statues—in nothing but a thong. Freshman year, three of the new girls and I went for the run; little did we know that the NYPD paid special attention to Central Park during hazing season,"

Ava grinned at the rapt look on Harvey's face and continued.

"So when we sprinted across the Bow, literally freezing our asses off, a fat cop was waiting for us on the other side. We ran so fast we were blurs, but he kept up the chase for a good half an hour. Sufficiently lost after he stopped following us, we wandered around until one of the worried sorority girls found us. Harv, I was so cold I couldn't feel my boobs, but it was worth it."

"Ava Madden, you've got to be one of the craziest girls I've ever met," whispered Harvey, leaning forward; he stared intently at her lips. "That's why I just can't leave you alone."

"Who says you have to?" she breathed, biting the corner of her lower lip. Almost innocent, she pressed her slightly open mouth to his. She felt his smile against her cheeks and sighed as he laced his fingers with hers. Flicking her tongue across his and gently tugging at his lip with her teeth, she let go.

_I could get used to this._

"I really like you," admitted Harvey offhandedly after a moment of silence.

Ava laughed and returned the quirky compliment. She knew exactly what he meant, and she felt the same way. "I really like you too, Harv."

Strangely, the relaxed state of their relationship further endeared it to her. There was none of the burgeoning pressure that came with labels. 'Married', 'dating', 'official', 'together': the titles meant nothing; they were simply background noise. To Ava, tonight was straightforward—two people discovering each other.

 _And more than that with any luck,_ she thought coyly, glancing at Harvey's arms; she could see the faint outline of the muscles beneath his suit jacket. _I wonder what those feel like…_

Reluctantly, she forced the curiosity from her thoughts—where _that_ road led was a matter to be decided later.

"Let's get out of here," suggested Harvey, checking his watch, "The night is young, and so are—"

He never finished his thought. The high-pitched whining of his phone interrupted, startling both him and Ava. She met his apologetic smile with an understanding nod, and watched keenly as he took out his phone.

He frowned at the screen, and tried to curb his ill-concealed annoyance. "Rach, I'm a little busy at the moment. You need me to come in?"

Ava's mouth opened in silent protest. _Are you kidding me?_

"You found _what_?" A pause. Harvey rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "No—no it's not a problem. I'm on my way."

He hung up.

 _The hell you are!_ seethed a silent Ava. She had waited too long for this date, and she didn't intend to let anyone, especially Rachel, ruin it.

"What happened?" she inquired, outwardly serene.

"Aves, I'm sorry, Rachel needs me at the office. Apparently, we have a few new uh, leads," fumbled Harvey, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. Ava eyed him skeptically, but said nothing. She wasn't sure if he was lying, but the uneasiness in his voice made her angry.

"You're really going to do this again? Can't she wait?" she demanded, words dark.

"Ava, I wouldn't leave if I didn't have to—I really enjoy being around you," tried a guilty Harvey as he got up. His eyes were sincere, but she could care less. "But I can't—"

"It's fine," carped Ava crossly, taking a quick sip of tea, "Clearly, you have your priorities in order."

"Aves, it's not—" he let the words die on his tongue once he saw the hardness in her eyes.

Harvey took his coat and scarf from the booth's coat hook and stood. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned down for a kiss. Ava met him with cold lips, not attempting to match his affections. She refused to look at him—how could he do this to her?

_Fool me twice, shame on me._

"Look at me," he said, craning his head to meet her eyes. She turned her head the slightest bit, half-interested in what he had to say.

"I know I screwed up bad, Aves. But I promise, I'll make it up to you. Just give me a chance to prove it, will ya?" He ran a finger across her jaw, trying to make amends.

Ava nodded, almost imperceptibly. Hell, all those years they'd known each other had to count for something, didn't it?

He flashed her a sorry smile and settled the bill with the waiter before hurriedly rushing out of the restaurant.

Pushing a piece of sushi around her plate, she attempted to finish her meal. But frustration won the upper hand, and soon she found her mind venturing to places it didn't belong.

She couldn't entirely blame Harvey for leaving. After all, he had a responsibility to the people of Gotham—that wasn't something that could be dismissed for a dinner date. No, what truly infuriated her was the power a woman she had met only twice had over her. Rachel's whim dictated what Harvey could and couldn't do.

_How dare she mess up our night?_

The question alone raised an indelible truth that Ava didn't want to admit—it wasn't _theirs_. Essentially, they had stolen it; Harvey was Rachel's, and he belonged expressly with her. What had happened was just a risk associated with the territory. There was no definite promise that they wouldn't be interrupted. Still, that did nothing to shake the disappointment. 

Gulping down her now-cold tea, Ava got up. Fending off the desire to go home and curl up in a pair of sweatpants, she put on her jacket and ventured out into Gotham's bustling Diamond District. According to her phone's map, the opera was nearby; if she hurried, she could meet Pam and Jason at the theater.

_Mel always has a way of putting things in perspective._

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

 Wrapping Jason's jacket around her, Pam slumped in a lab chair—it was done. Marker covered nearly every inch of the whiteboard, lines of elemental code. If she had calculated correctly (and she was pretty sure she had), the future of cross-species fusion lay in room R467. It was organized chaos, and looking at it, Pam felt a dizziness bordering on delirium. _Done._  


_And not a moment too soon._ Jason was extremely impatient tonight, alternating between criticizing her and compulsively checking his phone. Whoever he was working for wasn't too keen on waiting for a thoroughly researched product. _Straight to testing, I guess._

"Goddamn it, Pam, aren't you done? We haven't got all night!" shouted a crass Jason as he stormed into the small office.

Pam cloaked her fear in sarcasm, and replied dryly. "Calm yourself, Jason. You won't be able to kiss Innovacorp's ass if this formula's wrong."

"You," he chuckled lowly, stalking dangerously to the board. Pam shirked against the desk, aware of his sudden mood swing. "You enjoy making me angry, don't you?"

He was closer now, and Pam could feel the hate radiating from him. She shook her head 'no', but it did no good. Before she could blink, he had her cornered, his eyes boring into her green ones.

 _See where your big mouth gets you?_ She had an affinity for pushing people's buttons. Board eraser in hand, she defiantly answered the latent threat. "Don't flatter yourself; I don't 'enjoy' anything about you. I'm here for one thing and one thing only. And unless you want me to erase every last equation on that board, I suggest you back the hell up and treat me as an equal."

Jason grunted in frustration and backed away, seeing that she was fully serious. Pam watched him warily, and held onto the eraser.

"So, is it finished?"

"I told you it would be, didn't I?" shot Pam with a contemptuous laugh. "Don't worry, your precious little project is running on schedule."

"Good," said Jason, shoulders sagging in slight relief, "I'll have my contact code it and send it off to a lab for development—next comes testing."

"Testing? began Pam, suddenly nervous, "We've barely checked our logic and you want to go straight to _testing_? I get it, these people are lighting a fire under your ass, but you can't possibly give an unverified product to terminally ill patients."

"When did you become a patron saint? We're not using sick patients; we're using volunteers. People will try anything cutting edge—energy drinks, beauty injections—you name it, they'll try it. So we'll advertise the serum as an 'antioxidant supplement trial' and track the results. We'll have them sign waivers; no one will know."

"You keep saying 'we' like this is some sort of team effort! You held my degree hostage, and I held up my end of the bargain—your equation's solved. Now let me _go_." She didn't like the unsettling smile that crept onto his face.

"Let you _go_? You say that as if you're a prisoner," The anger in his voice was back, barely restrained; Pam started, and tightened her hold on the eraser. She stared at Jason's fingers as they balled into a fist.

Like many of her peers, she didn't believe in a god—not anymore. Her father forced her to attend annual holiday sermons, believing that it would somehow fill a void only her mother could. Year in and year out, she filed into a pew filled with diehard believers; every year she heard nothing, felt nothing. She searched for a holy whisper, a word that would give her hope—it never came. So she gave up, and traded her bible for a calculator, her rosary beads for a microscope.

But in that moment, she had the overwhelming urge to pray. Choosing the only one she knew by heart, Pam recited: _Our Father, who art—_

A chipper whistle split the silence, startling both Jason and Pam. Ava's "Twisted Nerve" ringtone echoed, filling the office with the _Kill Bill_ theme song. Jason stared at her.

_I'll be damned._

"Answer it."

She did.

"Hey, Aves," greeted Pam, with a worried glance at Jason who stood just behind her; he roughly pulled her onto his lap. "Can I call you back? We're at the opera house."

"That's the weird thing. Harvey had to leave dinner early and I walked over to the opera house…the show ended ten minutes ago and everyone's left."

Pam's thudding heart leapt into her throat. _Shit!_ This is exactly what she tried to prevent. Jason, who had heard every word, twisted her head to his and mouthed a 'no'.

"…you there?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm here," she faltered, still staring at Jason.

"So," started Ava, her words soaked in suspicion, "Want to tell me where you actually are?"

 _Think of something, anything,_ came the silent, desperate whisper—another voice roared: _Let her know._

Not directly of course—she was dead if even _tried_ to tell Ava about the project. Still, there had to be something she could say that'd tell her she was in trouble.

"I'm at…" Jason's arm tightened around her waist. "The 50th Anniversary Cyrus Pinckney Gala. I meant to tell you, but it was invitation only and I didn't want you to feel excluded."

That was crap, and Pam knew it—the museum's gala wasn't for another two weeks. What's more, both she and Ava had invitations. _Hopefully she gets it._

Her breath hitched as she waited for an answer; one finally came.

"Oh," began Ava, subtle comprehension in her voice, "Don't scare me like that, Mel! Just tell me where you are next time, will you? Anyway, I hope you have a great time—tell Jason I said 'hi'. I'll see you at home, okay?"

Jason offered Pam a sickening smile; Pam replied with a weak one. "Sounds good. Gotta go."

Without warning, his rage subsided, as if he had been reminded of a pleasant fact. Quietly, he uttered the words she'd waited to hear for months: "You're free to go, Pam—grades and all." Granted, they were shadowed by a uneasiness she couldn't place. But it was what she needed, and that was all that mattered.

_Thank God._

She needed nothing else. Anxiously, she sprung off his lap and took her clutch from the desk. Smoothing her green dress and moving with deliberate purpose, she was ready to leave. Confidently, even cockily, she stared at Jason as he stalked her with his eyes. Leaning on the doorframe, a small smirk took to her face.

"We're done." And with that, she went to spend the remainder of her Saturday night in peace.

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 "For obvious reasons, I couldn't wait for your permission."

_This guy doesn't quit._

He had been waiting patiently outside the door, waiting for the television to finish its bullshit plan. Well, patiently wasn't exactly the right word—his shoes were tacky from the blood of the two dead thugs at the front door. _Have to keep busy somehow._

Through the clouded plastic window, he could make out the basic happenings. The room was crowded, filled with every heavy-hitter in the city—Maroni, Falconi, Gambol, the Chechen, to name a few. Each of them brought a heavily armed bodyguard, as if one lackey could prevent the inevitable. They all hated each other, and one day, they'd declare an all-out war—but not today. Today, they took orders from a scrawny accountant on a getaway plane.

"He's just a clown in a cheap suit. Don't worry about him," said a distinctively smug voice, Sal Maroni's to be exact.

 _Oh, you really should_.

"Rest assured, your money's safe," said the wimp, attempting an iron confidence. Despite his obvious incompetence, the men were hypnotized. They wanted—no they _needed_ to believe him. He was their way out. _Too bad he'll squeal_.

That genuinely made him chuckle. These idiots really thought this guy would keep their money safe?

" _Safe_ ," he whispered with marked contempt. They didn't get it—not yet. He'd make them see; no one's safe from chaos. _Not even the 'almighty' mob_.

The lapse in conversation caught his attention. Finally, the talking head had stopped his rant. Jingling his jacket's trigger string, he made sure the grenades were actually there—they were his new favorite weapon. Arms dealers, foot soldiers, undercover cops—no one screwed with a guy who had a jacket laced with bombs.

He walked in with a giddy thought: _Your little party's over._

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ho he he aha," he drawled, sucking on his cheek as he strolled into the crowded kitchen, "and I thought my jokes were bad."

 _That's right,_ he thought, assuming silent control of the room, _all eyes on me._

The bosses snapped their fingers, and the bodyguards reached for their weapons. He fought the urge roll his eyes; all of them boasted expensive suits and bloated egos that he couldn't wait to destroy. He felt Maroni's eyes on him and licked his lips as the curious mobster called his guards off.

The others followed suit, except for one. With a ridiculous 'faux hawk' and a pink handkerchief in his suit pocket, he was particularly arrogant _._

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have my boy here rip your head off," demanded Gambol, fixing Joker a look of pure disgust.

A vicious toothy smile surfaced on Joker's face. He took a seat at the head of the table and answered: "How about a magic trick?"

Maroni quirked an eyebrow at the pencil Joker had lodged in the desk. Purple gloved fingers drummed the table and his shoulders strained in anticipation. His senses heightened—his eyes got larger, and the stench of kitchen oil assaulted his nose. The seconds before a kill were always his favorite. Everything was amplified, and adrenaline dictated his every movement.

One of Gambol's hulking guards got up and walked to the front of the table. _Wait for it…_ When he was within arm's reach, Joker acted. Seizing the goon's unprepared neck, he slammed his head onto the pointed pencil, baring his teeth at the slight 'squish' as it punctured his eye and lodged in his brain.

Satisfied, he sat back down.

"TA-DA! It's…it's gone," exclaimed Joker in false wonder, waving a hasty hand over the bare table. He met Gambol's stunned eyes, and goaded: "Oh, and by the way, the suit's not cheap. You oughta know, you bought it." That got him.

Gambol got up. Joker glowered at him.

Sensing the tension, The Chechen reined the other boss in. "Sit. I want to hear proposition."

"Let's wind the clocks back a year. These cops and lawyers wouldn't dare cross any of you. I mean, what happened? Did... did your balls drop off? Hm? Ya see, a guy, like me..."

"A freak," interrupted Gambol.

Joker paused, and stared at him in hatred.

 _I am NOT a freak._ He only saw humanity for what it was—a pack of rabid dogs hell bent on killing each other. Underneath all the philanthropists and politics and 'goodwill', it was all the same—he intended to show them that.

He cleared his throat and continued, venom dripping from his words. "A guy, like me... Look. Listen... I know why you choose to have your little group therapy sessions in broad daylight. I know why you're afraid to go out at night. The Batman."

Some of the men looked at him; some couldn't bear to. Either way, the room's silence signaled one thing—embarrassment.

"See Batman has shown Gotham your true colors. Dent...he's just the beginning. And as for the television's, so-called, plan, Batman has no jurisdiction. He'll find him and make him SQUEAL! I know the squealers when I see them, and..." He pointed an accusatory finger at the television. The face staring back was hilarious. Wan and scared shitless, he looked like the kind of guy who took daily beatings on the playground.

"What do you propose?" asked The Chechen, half-sold.

"It's simple," answered Joker matter-of-factly, "we kill the Batman."

"If it's so simple, why haven't you done it already?" quizzed Maroni, a half-amused smile on his face.

"When you're good at something, never do it for free."

"How much you want?" said The Chechen. _How much of what?_ He didn't want their money. No, he wanted something much better: the city. But he couldn't let them know that—not yet. They'd have to believe he was after their hard earned dollars.

"Uh…half."

A chorus of laughter rose followed by a mutter from Gambol. "You're crazy."

A sudden flare of rage kicked in his veins; it took every ounce of control for him not to lunge across the table and cut the idiot into little pieces.

_Soon._

"I'm not. No, I'm _not_ ," he snarled, biting his cheek. "Look, if we don't deal with this now, pretty soon little, uh, Gambol here won't be able to get a nickel for his grandma."

Gambol rose with a furious shout. "Enough from the clown!"

 _Gotcha,_ thought Joker—he'd hit a soft spot. The bodyguards stood at once, reaching for their weapons; he reached for his. "Ah, ta ta ta... Let's not _blow_ this out of proportion."

He smiled slightly as everyone drew back in surprise. Maroni, The Chechen—none of them wanted to die because a 'freak' decided to pull a string. _Not so stupid now, are you?_

"I'm putting the word out. Five hundred grand for this clown dead! A million alive, so I can teach him some manners first."

 _You're making this easier and easier._ He almost laughed, but thought better of it. With Gambol dead, he'd have access to a completely new crew; Dopey, Sleepy and the other Seven Schizophrenics just weren't cutting it—they couldn't start the fire by themselves. But when he got a crew armed with guns and some of that 'special stuff' Crane was cooking for him? _Just try to screw with me._

The bored, incredulous looks on Maroni and The Chechen's faces, let him know—neither of them took Gambol seriously. After all, how could they? No self-respecting mobster wears pink.

"Alright, so, listen, why don't you gimme a call when you wanna start taking things a little more seriously. Here's my card," he said, tossing a weathered joker card onto the table. Casting an amused look to an enraged Gambol and dangling the trigger finger for all of them to see, he backed out.

Darting down the hallway of the deserted restaurant, he went to see about Crane's concoction at Arkham—he'd be ready for anything.

_Come and get me._


	9. Flux

The bedroom was bright. Lit by the moon's effulgent rays and Gotham's neon stars, every surface glowed—the mirrored dresser, the teardrop lamp by the bed—all of it was steeped in the night's magic. Broken clamor drifted into nearby apartment windows. The witching hour was upon the city, and every corner swelled with curiosity. Pamela Isley's University Row apartment was no exception.

Ava was a mess—her careful coif had been reduced to a mass of tangled, wiry black strands; a film of sticky sweat slid from her flushed face onto her quivering chest. With a triumphant, almost boastful smile, she propped on one elbow and stared down at her trophy. He stared back and heaved a satisfied sigh.

"You," he husked, nearly breathless; shards of darkness scattered across his chest. "You are something else."

"I try," laughed Ava, resting her head in the crux of his arm. A wistful breath escaped her lips as he played idly in her hair. Tomorrow would mark a month since they had begun seeing each other, and he finally seemed comfortable with the idea.

 _It's about damn time._ He didn't wear that pitiful frown anymore, and there was no obligatory silence after they finished. It was natural now, and what's more, it seemed right. Ava felt Harvey shift under her as he wrapped a bare arm around her waist. Nestling against his stomach, she smirked.

"So," she began, twisting to face him. His eyes lit in interest. "Am I better than her?"

His emerging smile dropped, and his warm embrace chilled. "Aves," he warned, annoyance catching on the word.

"Relax, I was kidding, Harv," scolded Ava, rolling her eyes and pulling him back to her. "I'm just glad you're finally okay with this."

"I know, but you can't joke about something like that. I mean, she's still my—" He left off, suddenly regretting the word that'd almost left his mouth.

"Girlfriend? Don't remind me. You've left at three in the morning enough times for me to know you've got your priorities in order."

 _Damn._ She didn't to mean to retort with such venom, but her last modicum of patience had failed. Rachel already demanded so much of his time. Midnight work emergencies—some crap about new developments in their case—tore him from Ava's bed at ungodly hours of the night. For the short time he _was_ there, the least he could do was forget about her.

Still, she knew he was truly trying. _Tell that to my empty bed…_

"Ava," whispered Harvey, his mouth hot on her ear. "Don't do this. I know things are frustrating—"

"To put it lightly," interrupted Ava, fighting the urge to forgive him. It wasn't his fault, right? This whole thing was just an unfortunate circumstance that'd clear in a few weeks. They'd let this go soon, dismiss it as a childhood crush that had run its course. This wasn't love; it was lust.

 _Right?_ The growing pit of doubt in her stomach answered the question. She'd had lust before—it was never this difficult. It was purely physical, demanding none of her mind and all of her body. But this? This was exacted too much energy, too much passion. Harvey wasn't some guy at a club that she wanted to take home. He wasn't Derek, who only thought of himself when they slept together.

He was _Harvey Dent_ , the guy who used to eat peanut butter and jellies with her after school, the guy she used to spend every day with. And the more she denied it, the deeper the knife plunged into her gut—he'd gotten under her skin.

"Trust me, I know. Do you really think it's easy, lying to Rachel and Bruce and every other high society ass out there, pretending that I love her? They talk about us like we're the Romeo and Juliet of Gotham's courts!" Harvey was practically yelling now. He drew his head from her shoulder, as if afraid of how his anger had risen. Violently, he hurled himself out of bed and took to pacing, stalking in and out of the moon's pale light.

"And you are…aren't you? In love with her?" inquired Ava timidly, immediately scolding herself for bringing it up.

Harvey snapped his head to her, grey eyes wild. "I should be! She's everything—pretty, smart, dedicated. But I can't bring myself to _feel_ anything, Ava! For the past two years I've screwed and spent time with someone who I feel nothing for! Do you know how maddening that is?"

She bit hard on her lip and tried to imagine; nothing came. _Two years?_ The false smiles, the politics—she could barely stand it long enough to write an article. "Then why stay?"

"Because it looks good," he answered, hardened eyes staring out at the skyline. Standing in the window, light at his back, he was a shadow. "They want the dream couple."

Ava had no reply. Instead, she called him away from the wide open window. "Close the blinds, someone might see you!"

It was unlikely, but the last thing either of them needed was for someone to recognize Harvey and break a 'scandal'. _The reporter and upcoming D.A. Wouldn't that be a story?_ Gotham had really taken its toll.

"I hope they do," Disdain for her concern dripped from his words. "What, afraid it'll be the next front-pager?"

"No, I'm not afraid. Just don't come crying to me when they crucify you on the news," she quipped, glaring at him. "Speaking of news…got anything new for me?"

Harvey paced back to the bed, eyes keened on her; his shoulders strained as he pounced onto the sheets. Ava had no time to react as he leaped on top of her and kissed her with carnal ferocity, running desperate hands across her body. She returned the kiss, shocked by the spontaneity.

"Always ready for a story, aren't you?" he laughed ruefully, kissing her cheek; Ava couldn't place the uneasy feeling it gave her. "I suppose it you've earned it. There's a new guy—"

"What the hell do you mean, _earned_ it?" shouted Ava, instantly livid. Making appointments he couldn't keep, leaving at odd hours of the night—he sure as hell wasn't doing her any favors. Besides, he hadn't actually given her any solid leads to go on since the bank robbery. _And he has the audacity to think I'm using him?_

Enraged, she curled her fingers into a fist and struck his back, enjoying the slight yowl he gave. "You think I'm sleeping with you for stories? Have you lost your goddamned mind?"

"Then tell me why, Ava! There are so many guys out there who'd love to have you, and you choose me?" There was confusion in his voice.

 _Join the club._ It was almost comical. If any other guy even _hinted_ at an ulterior motive for her affection, she'd have kicked him out and thrown his clothes out the window. But this was Harvey. Staring at the bluish bruise that was forming on his shoulder, she wished for a logical answer—there was none.

"Because," she started, words shaky. _Please, let me say this right._ "I like you! We've known each other forever—hell, you used to sleep over my house! And with all that, you think I'd use you to fuel some sort of writing agenda? Get real."

_Well, that was Pulitzer worthy._

He stared at her, searched for a lie on her face. Ava gazed steadily, her hazel eyes urging him to calm down.

She let go of the sheet clutched around her chest and crawled to the edge of the bed. Shy, she pressed her white-lit body against his shadowed one. He snaked his arms around her, squeezing tight, and whispered a gentle 'sorry' in her ear. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and braced on his lap.

"…the guy from the bank robbery isn't random. He's new in town, leaves a joker card wherever he strikes. Word on the street is he's working with the mob. Last night he killed a few guys in the Narrows. He's got their attention, but no one's sure for what. "

"The Narrows? Where's—"

Harvey's phone vibrated, and Ava hopped off his lap, scowling. He shot her an apologetic glance; she barely paid attention.

 _Again?_ She was tempted to say something, but knew it wouldn't solve anything. He had to go, and she refused to ruin her night because Harvey was too fickle to stay. No, she'd stave off the blues with something productive—her latest _Globe_ story. She jumped out of bed and pulled a hoodie, t-shirt and pants from her drawers. Harvey's eyes were riveted to her and she offered him a bitter smirk.

Ava slid a pair of scarlet underwear over her moonlit legs. Harvey looked away and occupied himself with getting dressed, noting the frigid air in the room.

"Going somewhere?" asked Harvey when he was half-dressed.

"Out," she shot, zipping her jacket. "Just because you can't stick around doesn't mean I'm going to ruin my night."

She took her keys, phone and wallet from her bed. _A few dead guys in the Narrows?_ That'd make for a good story if she could connect it with the robbers. Almost to the door, Harvey blocked her path, a worried look in his eye.

"Ava, don't hate me. I can't control—"

"Don't worry, Harv," laughed Ava bitterly. "I don't blame you. It's never your fault right?"

Without waiting for a reply, she pushed past him, stormed through the living room, and left the apartment. Gotham's streets held such promise, and she intended to get her fill. She didn't have to worry about Pam tonight, and if Harvey's lead was correct, she was on her way to becoming an editor way before her thirtieth birthday.

_No way I'm staying in another night._

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

  _Maybe I should disconnect my cell,_ thought Pam as she sipped red wine from a crystal glass. If Jason hadn't called, she wouldn't be here right now, sandwiched between a brilliant doctor and her insensitive paramour. She'd be at home, stuffing her face with oreos and giggling with Ava over a comedy. But he just happened to call, and she just _happened_ to stay on the phone long enough to hear him out. So she shimmied into a navy mid-length dress, twisted her strands into ringlets with a hair iron, and caught a cab to Park Towers' Lounge.

" _It's just dinner," coaxed Jason, that same bloated pride in his voice. "And I think you'll be pleased to see who's interested in our work."_

That was the understatement of the century. She arrived, lazily curious. Though mildly amused by the prospect of an investor, Pam wasn't prepared for what she encountered. Crossing the opulent room of the hotel, her breath hitched. He was unmistakable—incredibly thin and impossibly pale, with contemptuous sapphire eyes hidden behind square-framed glasses. Dressed in a black blazer, skinny red tie and brown sweater, he was the epitome of an erudite doctor.

 _It can't be…_ And yet it was. Jason rose first and introduced the man at his right.

"Ah, Pam. Glad you're finally here. Allow me to present Doctor Jonathan Crane." Pam eagerly extended her hand, and Crane offered his. "He's taken a special interest in our latest research and wanted to discuss our findings."

Pam hardly heard a word Jason said; she was entranced by the man before her. Doctor Crane's work in psychology was the stuff of legend. His essays were a staple in the city's scientific journals, and he'd been dubbed Gotham's Carl Jung. Pam read his papers in her spare time, but never did she imagine having dinner with him.

"Nice to meet you, Doctor Crane. I'm a big fan of your experiments on botany's application in modern psychiatrics," she beamed.

"Likewise Ms. Isley. I've heard you're making waves at the University, and I'd like to be a part of it."

"Then let's talk, shall we?" asked Jason, with a slithery smile. Pam rolled her eyes.

All three of them sat down and ordered their meals. They discussed the latest scientific issues, and Pam was genuinely stimulated by the conversation. Crane was intimidating, but he seemed to like her well enough. Jason however, pissed her off. He didn't say much, but there was unspoken dialogue that passed between him and Crane. A sly smile when she spoke, a covert look thrown in the doctor's direction — something was up and she didn't like it.

Uneasy, she ignored it and maintained a façade of charm. Crane finally acknowledged the elephant in the room, curtly addressing Pam.

"Ms. Isley," began Crane, adjusting his glasses.

"Call me Pamela; everyone does."

"Very well, Pamela. Doctor Woodrue informed me that the serum you've created is ready for testing."

Pam's eyes widened and she shot Jason an irritated glare. "And why would you even need to be informed?"

Jason's face soured, and he was about to retort when Crane stepped in.

"I didn't mean to alarm you. He only mentioned it in passing conversation. I plan to develop… _alternative_ methods of treating my more aggressive patients. When asked if he knew of any, the Doctor told me about your experiment. Don't worry, I don't intend to report to you to the Science Committee; they have problems much larger than unsanctioned lab projects. Especially ones that will further modern medicine."

The pinched frown on her face relaxed, but she was still wary. _Of course he gives me the credit when it involves risk._ But when it came to remembering an anniversary or planning an actual date? _That's not his job._ Anger furrowed her brow, but Pam quickly regained her composure, aware that one of the world's most prolific psychologists was watching her every move.

"Doctor Crane wants to use the serum on Arkham inmates, and I thought it'd be a good idea to run it by you first."

"Damn right it would," blurted Pam, unable to stop the outburst. "Look, I appreciate your interest, Doctor, but I can't condone testing an unstable product on unsuspecting patients. We don't even have a baseline to work off of—all the inmates are sick in some form or another."

Another look passed between Crane and Jason, one that suggested an unspoken arrangement. Goosebumps broke on Pam's arms, and she shivered. This was sounding less and less like a proposal.

"Think of it this way. If Arkham's patients are ill and the serum is effective, it'll provide Doctor Crane with new treatment options. Imagine, unlocking unexplored parts of the mind with a hechtia mautade's genetic code," explained Jason, attempting to diffuse her rage with strained civility. "Even if there's no control group, we need a crop of testers, and the patients won't be any wiser."

Pam sniffed, but had to admit that it was a valid point. Though immoral, the arrangement was highly practical—use sick people and see if the new drug helped. Still, she didn't enjoy playing God. Here she was, deciding to administer an experimental product to men who hadn't given their consent.

 _If it ends up helping…_ Then she'd have experience enough to work in, and eventually head S.T.A.R's cross fusion department.

"There's no down side, Pamela. These men don't know any better, and if anything, you're doing them a great service," interjected Crane, reading the indecision on her face. His words were smooth, and his manner even more so. He was calm, almost aloof—it made Pam anxious.

 _A service? That's a good one._ Reluctantly, she asked the selfish question that had surfaced: "And if it works? What then? Do we mass market it?"

"Only if you want to," answered Jason expectantly. They both could sense her acceptance, but waited for her to say so.

She was silent for a few minutes, taking a few big gulps of her wine and finishing the rest of her pasta. Chewing the last of it, she felt Crane's blue eyes pierce her. She knew he could read her like a Psych 101 book, but she tried to remain unaffected. The longer she sat at the table, the clearer it became—this wasn't a discussion, it was a formality. Crane and Jason had already reached an agreement. She was only here for her verbal John Hancock. Finally, Pam spoke.

"Fine, we'll do it. But you both know I don't like it. It's dishonest, it's unethical—"

"It's innovation," finished Crane, eyes cold and lofty. Jason stared at the doctor, a tinge of anxiety on his face. _Was he feeling the same thing?_ The doctor scared her. Lying was all too easy for him.

"I say we toast," laughed Jason, voice higher than usual; Pam shot him a quizzical look—he was scared too.

"Agreed," seconded the serene Crane.

"Sure. But if you'll excuse me for a minute, I'd like to freshen up a bit," said Pam, rising from her seat.

"Take your time."

In the bathroom, she let out a shaky breath and fixed her hair. What the hell had she done? A week ago, she adamantly opposed any kind of experiment with the serum. Seven days of refusal, and her resolve crumbled in two hours over a filet mignon. _What is wrong with me?_ He hadn't overtly threatened her, but something about Crane struck terror in her gut. He calmly demanded that she comply with his request, and she folded without sufficient cause.

 _All in the name of progress, right?_ Tiptoeing back to the table, Pam fought the fear in her throat and forced a smile. There were three bubbling flutes of champagne on the table, and Pam sighed. _I'm going need something much stronger than prissy champagne._

Crane's gaze was hot, and she met it with a jolted smile.

_Creep._

He took his glass, and Jason took his, following the Doctor's lead. Pam raised hers, in desperate need of something to steady her nerves.

"What should we toast to?" asked Crane, blue eyes locking with Pam's green ones. "New business? Discovery? It's your choice, Miss Isley."

"How about—" A menacing glare from the Doctor silenced Jason's babbled suggestion. For once, Pam didn't mind Jason's inability to shut up; she didn't want to speak to Crane.

"To…" Pam trailed off as she stared at the champagne. "Bettering Gotham's future, one patient at a time."

Clinking glasses followed, and Pam tipped hers back, shocked by the liquor's potency. She'd had champagne countless times, but this glass was different. It was much stronger, scalding her throat like only hard liquor could. Almost acrid, it tasted of grapes, but earthier, like it'd come straight from the ground. Her eyes darted to the label—black Moet. _Moet never tasted like this…_

But not finishing wasn't an option. Crane had finished his, and Jason's was not far behind.

Usually, Pam was the first to spot a tainted drink; it was a vital skill in Gotham. Drinking a green apple martini spiked with rohypnol was a one-way ticket to murder, prostitution or rape. Maybe she was too nervous; maybe she was intimidated by Crane. In either case, she wasn't nearly as alert, and missed the champagne's glaring abnormality—it's green tint. It was faint, a slight jade hue in the flute that frothed more than normal.

Instantly, her head swam, and her vision stuttered. Her reflexes slowed to a standstill, and her head lolled, suddenly a hundred pounds. She stood abruptly, almost toppling as the blood rushed to her head. Neither Crane nor Jason seemed surprised by her struggle. Instead, they gazed, and through the patchy fog that'd begun to blur her sight, she saw Crane's pale lips curl into a smile.

"I…told you she'd…buy it…" Jason's words were echoing hazy fragments.

"Now…you have…your…baseline."

Incensed, baffled, Pam shot them a weak glare and staggered to the door, barely able to stand on her feet. A valet hailed her a cab, holding her up with one of his arms. Her throat bubbled with bitter bile, and she struggled to keep from vomiting. One thought bounced in her drugged brain: _They gave me…serum?_

She tumbled into the cab, her coat hanging from her shoulders and clutch stuck in her pocket. Desperate, she fished for her phone, fingers fumbling. Her arm felt alien, but she managed to press Ava's name. The phone was on speaker, and she prayed for an answer—it went to voicemail.

"Ava…call me as s-soon as you get this…d-drugged…Jason."

Miraculously, she made it to the lobby, not bothering to pay the cabbie. Approaching the front desk, she attempted to ask for assistance.

"H-Help."

It was all she could manage. The fog of exhaustion was too thick, and she was unconscious before she hit the floor.

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

"Sometime today would be nice."Harvey had been waiting on the rooftop for the last fifteen minutes. A text from Gordon ripped him from bed and tossed him into the frigid December night. _New info. Turn on the bat signal and wait for me on the roof._ That was all it said, yet it was enough to draw him out of their bed.

_Where the hell is this guy?_ He was incensed—Maroni's accountant had left the city, a setback that could potentially unravel all his hard work on the mob's case. They'd tracked him for almost six months while his cover corporation, Lau Security Investments, conducted business with Wayne Enterprises. The D.A.'s office was getting close to finding the book keeper's connection with Gotham's top criminals. With him out of the country, there was nothing to prosecute, and Batman hadn't done a thing about it.

The bat signal was a beam of blinding white light that cast on the murky night sky.

Shivering, he drew his coat tighter around him and checked his phone: 1:00 AM. He was tired. Ava had worn him out, and he was looking forward to a deep sleep. He needed to know the city's latest, but leaving her and blaming it on Rachel still bothered him.

She'd been so understanding, so cavalier about the whole thing—on the outside. But he saw the sadness in her eye when he stood to leave, the near silent sigh she gave when he kissed her goodbye. He also saw what Ava couldn't—Rachel. Rachel was persistent, chaining him to her arm and offering love stories to whichever corporate stiff popped into the office. He'd been able to maintain the charade, appease her fantasy for a while. But things were harder now.

He'd begun cancelling their dinner dates, offering excuses as to why he couldn't sleep over. Rachel sensed the distance, and now? Oh, now she waged war. Emotional, psychological—she'd made it clear. He wasn't going anywhere.

 _At least not until the fundraiser's over._ As much as Harvey didn't want to admit it, he needed Wayne's support. Breaking up with his best friend would be a surefire way of destroying any chance he had. Wayne was a cocky, assuming ass, but his influence would send voters to the polls.

The quiet footsteps of a looming shadow saved Harvey from brooding.

"You're a hard man to reach," said Harvey, unfazed. It was his first time meeting Gotham's vigilante, but he was too tired to be impressed. Before Batman could answer, Gordon squeezed through the narrow rooftop door.

"Lau's halfway to Hong Kong," started the future D.A., nearing the lieutenant. "You should've asked. I could've taken his passport. I told you to keep me in the loop!"

"All that was left in the vault were marked bills," retorted Gordon, hand sweeping the air. "They knew we were coming! As soon as your office got involved—"

"My office? While you're sitting down there with _scum_ like Wuertz and Ramirez? Oh yeah, Gordon," Harvey gave haughty snicker at Gordon's silence. "I almost had your man drawn up on a racketeering charge last week."

"Don't try and cloud the fact that Maroni has people working in your office, Dent!"

Harvey had no answer. He hadn't considered it before, but given the current circumstances, Gordon's accusation seemed plausible. How else did Lau escape investigation without being stripped of his passport? Something wasn't right, and he needed someone to look into it.

_Ava._

Suddenly, he remembered the hulking shadow to his right. Turning, he regarded it with weary impatience. "We need Lau back. The Chinese won't extradite a national under any circumstances."

"If I give him to you, will you get him to talk?" Batman's voice was graveled bass, low and threatening. _Can I get him to talk?_ He hadn't gained a ninety percent conviction rate with wimpy interrogations. But those were Gothamites, the typical low lives; Lau would be different—he had everything to lose.

"I'll get him to sing."

"We're going after the mob's life savings. Things are gonna get ugly."

 _No shit, Sherlock._ Harvey felt like rolling his eyes. _Ugly?_ Ugly didn't even begin to cover how this would go down. Maroni would wage war in the Diamond District, let alone Gambol's forces in the Narrows. Combined with the Chechen's Lower East gang, all of Gotham's organized underbelly would be after him, the poster boy for justice. But that's what he signed up for, and that's what he intended to deliver.

"How will you get him back in—" Harvey halted when he realized that the black specter had vanished. Confused, he turned to Gordon, who shrugged his shoulders.

"He does that."

"Great. So what do we do now?"

"Have a stiff drink and wait." Gordon didn't appear worried. "He'll be back eventually. And when he does, Lau will be at your front door."

Harvey ran a hand through his hair. _Depends on which front door…_ A harsh smile graced his lips at the thought of Lau at Pam's apartment. _That'd be interesting._ He glanced at Gordon, who'd been staring at him searchingly.

"What?" he snapped, now irritable. It was 1:45; he wanted to go back to bed and sleep and wake up to Ava's face in the morning. _Wishful thinking._

"You sure you're up for this, Dent? Everybody, I mean _everybody_ is going to want you in a body bag."

"Of course I am, Gordon. I ran for D.A., and I plan to see my promise through. No excuses."

"Hope your right…" The words trailed off, and the exhausted cop gave Harvey a polite nod. "Now go home and get some rest. Say hi to Rachel for me."

Harvey answered with a short chuckle and pulled out his phone. Rachel was no Ava, but he needed comfort—a warm body to sleep next to and she'd suffice. Besides, he'd already angered Ava, and she left to roam the streets of Gotham. Typing a short message to his A.D.A, he retreated from the rooftop.

_I'm coming over. Be there in twenty._

He walked out of the GCPD building into the cold air and yielded to the guilt that urged him to check on his favorite reporter. Turning the ignition of his black sports car, Harvey sighed and contemplated calling her; he immediately thought better of it. Instead, he tapped out a longer, more sincere message.

_Aves, I really am sorry for hurting you. Forgive me. Call me when you're not busy, ok? I love you._

Swerving through straggling traffic, Harvey made his way to Rachel's apartment, trudged up the stairs, and used his key to open the door. Throwing his jacket on the couch and stripping down to his boxers, he slipped into bed beside Rachel, who gave him a sleepy kiss. Staring at the black ceiling, Harvey willed his mind to cease; to no avail. The face of every mobster attacked his thoughts, forcing a sigh from his lips. They wanted to start a city-wide war?

_Bring the rain._


	10. Twisted Nerve

It was dark and dingy. Tall tenements—little more than cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other—towered until they scraped the bruised night sky. Flanked by the pier on the east and docks on the west, it was the Narrows. Sin splayed in every corner, and dank bay air rolled over Ava in nauseating waves. Gagging, she alternated between covering her nose with her sleeve and looking over her shoulder.

_So this is why the cabbie was so scared._ When Ava told the portly driver her destination, he looked at her like she was insane. He even double checked to make sure that he'd heard correctly. But Ava simply nodded and insisted that she wanted to go the Narrows, having no idea what she was asking for. All she knew was that people had been killed in that area, and there was _some_ connection between that and the bank robberies a few weeks ago—it was enough to go on tonight.

She'd dressed smartly, wearing all black and ordinary trainers that wouldn't draw any undue attention. The taxi had dropped her off at the corner of S 156th and Pacific Place.

_Wherever that is._ Surveying her surroundings, the dim streetlights shone on the dark alleys and scantily clad women dotted every corner. The possibilities were endless, and though she left to get away from Harvey, she wished for the specific location of the murders.

Ava had no idea where to begin, so she set off towards a bar with a few hooded figures clustered around the front door. Truth be told, she wasn't nearly as nervous as she anticipated. The Narrows weren't much different from Harem Cove back home, the only difference being the foul water of Gotham Bay. But it was still a place to be careful, especially because she had only a folded viper knife in her left pocket. Sure, some considered it extreme, but she took no chances—things could get ugly fast, no matter what city or area you were in.

Making sure her footsteps were as quiet as possible, Ava neared the bar and ducked behind one of the walls, praying they wouldn't see her. Acutely aware that she couldn't waltz up to them and ask for directions to the nearest clown-faced criminal, she flicked the button on her voice recorder and listened in on a conversation three of them were having. _Someone's gotta know this guy._

She poked her head out to get a good look at them.

"They still in there?" asked one. He was dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood up and tattered jeans. _Big surprise there._ What did catch her attention was the long black bag he was holding. She thought it was a garbage bag at first, but looked closer and saw it had a zipper. Ruling out the initial possibility, she was left with only one more: a body bag.

"Yeah. It's a bloodbath in there," replied the other, who donned the same outfit. "Boss is still waiting for them to finish up. Takin' way too long if you ask me. Don't take _that_ long to kill a man."

The first guy laughed, truly tickled. "What'd he give 'em?" Ava slid the recorder's volume higher, now intensely curious as to whom this boss could be.

"Broken pool sticks." She shuddered.

"That's more than my first time. He gave me nothin' and pit me against four bastards twice as large."

"Brutal."

"Whatever gets the job done, right? With a new crew, we can—"

The arrival of a third man stopped the goon's sentence. Dressed like the other two, only his face, or lack of one, was unique. Under the streetlight, Ava could make out the clownish features on his face and strained her eyes against the darkness. When he stepped into the bar's dingy light, she got a clear look—it was a mask. With a paper white face, blue rimmed eyes and scratched yellow circles on the cheeks, it was unmistakable.

_A clown!_ Ava clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp and slid her phone from her pocket. Steadying her hand as best she could, she lifted it and snapped a photo with the phone camera, praying they wouldn't notice. _Harvey was right._ The import this would have on her story was enough to make her cry out, so she pushed it to the back of her mind and focused on remaining hidden.

_This is gold._

"Boss wants you inside now. It's time to clean up." The masked thug snorted at the bunched body bag. "You're gonna need three more of those."

"Who won?" piped one of the men; Ava wasn't sure which.

_Won? What the hell could they possibly win that requires_ broken _pool sticks?_ A puff of cold air left her mouth, and she shivered.

"The one I bet on," snickered the masked man. "You owe me twenty bucks."

"Damn it! I really thought he was gonna die! What, with the way he was crying and all. "

All three thugs laughed and went inside. Confident that this was what she needed, Ava inched away from her wall and moved in on the bar. It was quiet on this block, and if she could sneak against one of the building's darker walls, they wouldn't see her. _It's worth a shot._ She hurried, feet slapping the pavement with a soft scuff. Panting in equal parts fear and excitement, she crossed the street and closed the distance.

_The Alibi,_ she thought, reading the faded sign and making a mental note. _How fitting._

Now shrouded in darkness, Ava allowed herself to relax. She didn't dare make a sound as the first man dragged an oblong body bag from the rusted doors. Taking another picture, she crouched and waited for the other two, but she'd never see them. As if to spite her luck, her phone gave a short buzz of warning before bursting into its intemperate ringtone.

" _Can I wake you up? Is it late enough, is it late enough?_ " screeched the device, Ava's ringtone for Pam echoing through the alleys.

"Shit!" cursed Ava, fumbling for her cell. Slamming the silent button, she checked to see if the goon had heard it—he had. More than that, he was looking around for the source of the noise.

"Hello? Who the hell's out there?" Ava assessed him—a tad taller than her with a scrawny build and fear in his face—she could take him if necessary. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and she let out a silent breath—he didn't have a gun. Still, fear surged in her chest as he neared her hiding spot, now calling for his buddies _and_ his boss.

Ava weighed her options. Either she could try and fight him off and keep investigating or she could run and get the hell out. She knew how to fight, but dancing with death wasn't something she was willing to risk. With a flash she made up her mind and took off, stuffing her phone and recorder into her pocket. She bolted, now hearing the footsteps of men behind her.

"Get back here!" roared one; she recognized the voice of the masked man. Heart pounding, she pushed further into the dark side street, praying it'd let her out somewhere safe. Shrieking, she stumbled on the uneven asphalt and heard a thud as her wallet fell from her jacket.

_Damn it!_ Quickly, she stooped and clutched it back to her, swearing as some of her cards fell out. She'd managed to put some distance between herself and the group, but they'd split up and she could hear a leader giving directions.

"You two, go down there. We'll cover the rest and find the dumb bastard!" The two were hurrying down her street and Ava rushed to pick everything up. The footsteps were getting closer, and she could see one of the guys point in her direction.

"Hey, there he is!" Ava's eyes widened and she ran doubly fast, narrowly dodging the garbage dumpsters and ducking the lowered fire escapes. She looked ahead to the end of the alley and pushed harder—there was a semi-lit street on the other side. The men were on her heels, shouting and screaming for her to halt.

_The hell I will!_

Stopping for nothing, she ignored the rising pain in her chest and skidded out of the alley onto the lit street. Glancing behind her, she saw no sign of them and allowed herself a slight smile—there was a train station just ahead. Sprinting, she shoved her hands into her pockets, bounded down the entrance stairs, and hopped aboard the University Row train that was pulling into the station. Sitting down on one of the bright orange seats, she gave a mixed cry of relief and shock.

Ava slid into the seat, exhausted limbs melting on the hard surface. Eyeing an older woman, the only other person on the train, she explained herself with two words and a weak smile.

"Rough night."

Gazing out the window, she was happy to put the Narrows behind her. The scene outside was gradually returning to what she knew; Wayne Tower stood watch in the distance. Before she could truly put her mind at ease, Ava's phone rang again, forcing an irritated growl from her throat.

_This better be good…_ she thought, glaring at Pam's name on the screen.

"Mel, what could you possibly—"

"Hello, is this Ava Madden?" The voice on the other end of the phone was definitely not Pam's. It was sweet, but held an authority that gave her pause.

"Who's asking?" Once, a guy had gotten her number from the _Sun_ and called her for five days straight about running a story on his pet shop. She finally agreed to visit and found a store filled not with cats and dogs, but with something much scarier—hairy spiders. There were hundreds of glass cages housing all sorts of the eight-legged freaks. After she ran screaming from the shop, contacted her boss, and changed her number, Ava resolved to never again give her name out by telephone.

"This is Doctor Landry Taylor of Gotham General Hospital. Are you the roommate of Miss Pamela Isley?"

Ava's heart dropped and her mouth went dry. "Y-yes. What's wrong? Did something happen to her?"

"Your friend's been poisoned. She's stable, but we need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible."

She couldn't even say anything; no words came. _Poisoned—_ eight letters that made no sense. The word bounced around in her head, but she couldn't comprehend it. Questions came next, one after the other, all incomplete. "Who would— _why_ would—how—"

"Miss Madden, I know you have a lot of questions, but I can't answer them over the phone. I trust you know the hospital's address?"

"What do you mean you 'can't answer'? My best friend's in the _hospital_ and you barely tell me anything about what's wrong with her!" shouted Ava, tears threatening her eyes. She didn't even want to think about what could've happened to Pam.

"Ava," answered Doctor Taylor patiently. "I understand you're frustrated. But the law keeps me from disclosing her condition over the phone; getting angry with me won't cure her. Now, the hospital's on 50th and Wesson, just outside the old University. Come right away, and call 735-828-4589—that's my direct line. I'm truly sorry you had to find out like this, but her condition's… _unique._ "

Ava gave her a weak 'thank you' and hung up before the doctor could finish. Head razed of all thoughts, she sat dumbstruck on the train, wishing the damn thing would move faster. She considered calling Harvey, but decided against it. The only thing she could think to do was pace.

So she did.

Walking the length of the train car, she tried to steady her nerves, but the word wouldn't leave her alone.

_Poisoned._

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

"Did you catch him?" It was clear from the frightened looks and slight trembling in the men before him that they hadn't. Still, he quizzed them—it was fun watching them squirm; none of the six men answered. He rolled his eyes and tapped his foot, hand shoved deep in his pockets. His favorite knife nestled in his palm and he casually flicked the handle and waved it in front of them. The scanty moonlight glinted off the blade and the men took a step back as he neared them with it.

"What are ya, deaf?" laughed Joker, the nasal whine an octave too high. He tilted his face, black paint hiding his eyes. With a scarlet, scarred-over smile, he bared an uncanny resemblance to a demon and he could smell the stench of fear as it rolled off the grown men in front of him. "ANSWER ME!"

His hands twitched and a collective gasp rang out as they stood like scolded children before a strict father. _Honestly?_ He just wanted an answer, but _no_ , they had to make it difficult. _Crane can't work fast enough…_ After that, they'd be mad past the point of return.

"No one? Maybe _you_ know?" he asked, pointing his knife at the skinniest one of the bunch—it was the tryout winner. The idiot was shaking in his shoes with a vice grip on the body bag in his hand. He shook his head desperately, as if that would make things better. Joker seized him by the neck and cradled the back of his head with his free hand, his purple leather gloves stroking his hair mockingly.

"God no, please! I didn't see nothin', I swear!"

"God?" cooed Joker, dull side of the knife caressing the goon's cheek. "God can't help you here." He forced the terrified henchman's mouth open and rested the blade against his tongue. Screams of protest followed, and Joker shushed him, seizing the thug's chin in his fingers. "But since you can't give me what I need, looks like you won't need this anymore."

"Don't!" exclaimed one of the men from the crowd. Joker raised a brow and saw Grumpy, frowning mask and all. The man was a schizophrenic—he'd shot ten men at his office because the 'voice of God' told him to. One of his most loyal followers, Joker knew his one weakness—hemophobia. Of all things, the man was afraid of blood, and he'd trade anything to avoid the sight. "I-it wasn't a he. Me and Dopey found a card in the alley we chased her in. She was long gone when we got to her."

_Isn't that fun?_ He couldn't imagine any woman that'd dare come near the bar, besides the hookers. But he'd warned them off after he carved a smile into one of the girls. _Who'd possibly be stupid enough?_

"What'd you find?" Joker ground out, maintaining a firm hold on thug's head. Grumpy hesitated, and he rolled his eyes. " _Don't_ keep me waiting."

The goon hurriedly brought a card from his pocket and held it out to his boss. Joker snatched it and silently read it over.

_Ava Madden_

_Journalist, Blud Sun_

_735-521-6342_

His brow furrowed at first; then he laughed. It was a quiet chuckle, but quickly morphed into a jagged, high-pitched cackle that deafened the thug and made the other guys wince. " _Again?_ " he mused, staring at the text. "This is one _special_ girl."

_She wants to play hide and seek?_

Not only did she have the audacity to publish a story about him, but then tracked him down? Something didn't smell right, and it wasn't the bodies on the sidewalk. There was no way she could've gotten his location without help—no average reporter could. GCPD prided themselves on keeping the reporters out, so he had to work harder to cause chaos that the vultures would hear about—a gang takeover in the Narrows didn't rank as one of them. _So how does she know?_

He filed the thought away, right next to the 'plans' he had for his new gang. The panicked whimpers of the man in his clutches jerked his attention back to the present. The fool was slobbering now, his mud brown eyes watering in terror. Joker looked at the slimy trail of drool on his leather glove and frowned.

"Aw," he whined, the dark anger in his voice all too evident. "These were _new_ gloves!"

_He's too weak._

Grumpy, sensing what would come next, decided to beg for the matchstick in Joker's clutches.

"Boss, he clearly don't know—"

One look from Joker quieted him. Silent and malicious, he growled so dangerously it made the goon cower.

"I'll deal with _you_ later _,_ " called the demon over his shoulder. "But for now, I think we'll get to know our newest member. What's your name?"

The knife was still pressed against the man's tongue, but he tried to answer. "T-Tywer."

"Tyler? I like that name. What's your favorite word, Tyler?" Joker bared his teeth in a false smile and breathed hot on the gangster's face; he pressed the blade harder against his mouth. "Come now, don't be shy!"

"Money."

_Of course it is,_ thought Joker. _He has the IQ of a shotgun slug._ It was a shame really. He cast a glance at all the thugs; they were all in it for the money, so much so that it was all they could think of. There was no chaos for chaos' sake, and it turn, Gotham had become a predictable place, filled with idiots who thought crime was only a vehicle for profit. There was a principle behind it all, one he intended to teach them, beginning with this cowardly idiot.

"Good choice! Would you like to spell that for the class?" When he hitched, Joker brought the heel of his leather oxford down on the man's shoe.

"M-o-n—"

"That's enough!" He laughed, digging his knife into Tyler's fleshy tongue and holding his head still. The thug thrashed, and Grumpy cried out as bright red blood splattered across Joker's white-painted face. Carving efficiently, he ignored the cries of the man, his steady hand successful in its attempt. Within thirty seconds, Tyler's tongue was severed from his mouth, leaving him with a gory stump and bloodied teeth.

The other men gazed in horror; Grumpy vomited on the sidewalk. He shoved Tyler—severed tongue and all—back to the crowd, who recoiled in shock. Joker shook out his limp half-green hair and stalked toward them, muttering to himself.

"This isn't for the money. We're performers for all of Gotham." He walked through the parted crowd toward a van, the tail of his purple trench coat trying to keep up. Waving emphatically, he made a point to shove a man who'd gotten in his way and kick him in the ribs. "They've gotten so _bored_ with these _gangs_ —'the bad guys kill people and sell drugs for more money'. Now, they think they understand. But they _don't_ —they can't. Not until they feel _true_ fear; the stuff that'll make 'em hide in their closets and check under their beds. "

"Boss, where are—"

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_ Without warning, Joker whipped around and shot Grumpy thrice—twice in the chest and once through the head.

"Told ya!" he laughed, tucking the gun into its holster. He rarely used the 9mm, but he didn't have time for knives right now—there was work to be done and knowing him, he'd get too caught up in torturing the sorry bastard. Lower, he ordered: "Someone get him cleaned up and put in a bag."

A driver hurried ahead of Joker, scurrying to make it to the oversized van before he did. The driver, one he'd worked with before, knew exactly where to go and after the other men and corpses were loaded into the trunk, sped off to the offices of Doctor Jonathan Crane. Only broken yelps of pain from Tyler broke his concentration, and Joker watched the Gotham night from his window.

_It's all part of the plan._

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

  _A thicket of trees stretched as far as Pam's eyes could see, tops so thick that couldn't see the sunlight; every sort of leaf, vine and flower adorned the vast expanse. Vibrant petals clung to every surface and the languid, dulcet scent of fresh buds lingered in the air. Unsure, she questioned her own senses and reached out to touch a hibiscus nested in the fork of an elegant willow. She gasped as the flower transformed into a flitting hummingbird, green and pink and impossibly fast._  


_The whole thing looked like a page out of Pam's childhood dreams—a garden as far as the eye could see._

_Though delighted with the space, something drew her to the eked path that was strewn with a carpet of multicolored blooms. Curious, she wandered down the road clad in only her hospital gown, bare feet twining with the high green grass._

' _What time is it?' She didn't know. There was no sense of night or day, only a chorus of faint whispers._

" _Pamela." She whipped around, searching for the source of the voice—there was nothing. Stumbling, Pam continued down the road which appeared endless under the verdant leaves. It was odd. Though she had absolutely no idea where she was, she wasn't afraid. The space felt familiar, almost inviting._

_The trees kept shifting, forming a fork in the road at one moment and guiding her left at the next. After what felt like an eternity of meandering, she heard the voice again._

" _Join us," it rasped, the trees and flowers leading her to a lit clearing just ahead. Pam hesitated, but couldn't stop; the vines and trees blocked the path behind her, leaving her no other direction but forward. "We've been waiting for you." Something akin to a fire in her bones impelled her to run toward the open space, a desperate yearning flaring in her heart. Sprinting, she finally rushed through the clearing and shrieked in relief as she left the suffocating forest._

" _H-hello?" whispered Pam, eyes searching wildly around the lush garden for a sign of someone, anyone. "Where are you?"_

" _Here," hissed the voice again. She turned in the sound's direction—there was nothing but an old gnarled tree._

" _Over here." With a short yelp, she looked again for a person—a bed of wild tulips and poppies swayed in the gentle wind._

" _WHERE?" Pam screamed, suddenly terrified. There was no one in sight, and the soft breeze quickly switched to cold gusts that whipped her legs and arms. Instead of answering again, leaves and vines churned a violent vortex that deafened a scared Pam. They slowly took shape, the brown branches assembling into a crude skeleton, with short sticks for fingers and long boughs for bones. Leaves of all shapes acted as skin, bound by flaxen reeds._

_Petals and long green grasses acted as hair and the being vaguely took the shape of a human with a red rose mouth and blue iris eyes. Pam yelled in fear and backed up, tripping over her own feet and landing in the grass. The plant-woman walked toward her, its ephemeral, haunting voice raking every coal of fear in Pam's chest and setting them ablaze._

" _W-who are you?" demanded Pam, rooted to the spot._

" _Tsk tsk," tutted the creature, cornering the frightened doctor against a looming oak. "I am you, Pamela—everything you were meant to be. I am the trees that give you shade in summer; I am the flowers you grow in your home. I am water, I am sun—I am Nature."_

_Pam shook her head in disbelief. 'Nature?' It couldn't be. This was a dream, and she could just close her eyes, click her ruby slippers and—_

" _Take my hand. You cannot run from me, Pamela." The plant-woman offered Pam its spiny fingers and its face twisted in something resembling a smile. Pam's face contorted in fear and she shook her head, willing the dream to end._

" _No! You're not real! I'm hallucinating, I'm ill, I'm—"_

" _Enough!" bellowed the being, barely controlled. "You can't escape who you are. Do you_ really _think you're human, with all your friends and studies and fancy papers? No. You are a member of my family, Pamela. How dare you refuse your mother's love?"_

_Pam screamed again, and pushed past the sweeping arms of the creature, bursting into a dead sprint as she ran through the forest away from the plant-woman. The forest fought tooth and nail to restrain her, the vines and flowers trying to ensnare her; she barely endured scratches from the thorny thicket of trees. The light at forest's end was dimming, but Pam pressed on, determined to leave this nightmare behind._

_Panting, chest on fire, she pushed through the closing window and into the shrinking light on the other side._

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

  _I hate hospitals,_ thought Ava, wringing her hands and eating a spoon of hours-old cherry jello. The ammonized, overly sterile scent of the hospital assaulted her nose, the acrid air burning her lungs. It was four thirty in the morning, and she looked almost as haggard as she felt. Hazel eyes glazed with exhaustion, skin pale with worry, she was a dreadful sight. In the course of a night, she'd been reduced from a master of her fate to a shaken little girl.

For the last few hours, she had waited anxiously by Pam's hospital bed; there was deathly silence in the room, eased only by the constant beeping of her vital machines. Pam's breathing fell evenly, and she looked almost peaceful, red hair spread in a messy halo above her head. Ava had called Doctor Taylor's direct line, but she hadn't shown yet—only a few nurses came in to check her blood pressure and record it.

_Damn doctors._ No one had even come to fully tell her what was wrong. All she knew was that Pam had been poisoned. The latter stirred, her eyes twitching beneath their lids and her hands grabbing fast to the sheets. Strangled whimpers escaped her mouth and Ava rushed to Pam's side—it was the first noise she'd heard out of Pam since she arrived.

"Mel," called Ava desperately shaking her limp arm. "Mel can you hear me? Wake up, wake up it's Ava!"

Pam answered with another moan. Her ECG monitor chimed faster, and Ava's eyes bugged as the delta waves on the screen flattened into a straight line. She was no medical genius, but it was obvious that Pam was going into cardiac arrest.

Ava wasted no time and yanked the room door open, calling into the hospital hallway. "Nurse! Help, she stopped breathing!"

Almost instantly, a team of four pushed past her with a crash cart and began work on Pam. Ava looked on guiltily, afraid that she had been the cause of Pam's heart attack. A few stray tears fell down her face as she waited for the redhead to breathe again. And though she tried not to think of it in those brief moments, the question inevitably crossed her mind: _What if she doesn't?_

Luckily, the doctors were more objective. After the second 'clear' had been given, Ava heard a loud, frantic gasp and gave a cry of joy—Pam had begun breathing. The beeps soon stabilized, and Ava felt the invisible weight lift from her chest.

All the nurses left the room, but the team's doctor remained. She couldn't have been much older than Ava, but her eyes held a hardened realism that seemed off kilter when contrasted with the sunny voice that left her mouth.

"You must be Ava," assumed the woman, holding out a hand; Ava shook it. "I'm Doctor Taylor; we spoke on the phone. Sorry I didn't come to meet you before, E.R's full to the brim tonight."

She wasn't happy to see the doctor. Hell, she wasn't happy to be in the building—she only wanted Pam to be okay. With all that they'd been through, Ava couldn't bear to think of losing the closest thing she'd ever had to a sister. _What would I tell Aunt Viv? What would I tell Harvey?_

"Nice to meet you," she lied.

"Yes, well I wish it were under better circumstances. Do you remember what I told you on the phone?"

Ava looked at a slumbering Pam; the pinched pain was gone from her face. "She was poisoned, right?"

"Correct. But not just any poison. This one's unlike any one we've ever encountered."

Ava stared dumbly at Doctor Taylor. How _unlikely_ could a poison be? They were all the same, all did the same thing—paralyze.

"What was it, Doctor? Roofies? Chloroform? _What?_ " growled Ava in impatience. She wasn't angry with the doctor, but at that moment, she didn't care who she took it out on.

"Neither," answered Doctor Taylor, voice level. She was genuine, and Ava immediately felt the urge to apologize to the woman who'd been nothing but helpful. "The treatments for those two are fairly simple. This isn't a typical poison. It's more of a toxin, made up of complex chemicals, some of which I haven't dealt with since med school."

_Toxin?_ Ava was instantly confused. Pam would never intentionally put herself in an environment with anything toxic. She was firmly opposed to anything that could potentially mess with her mind—even alcohol. _How the hell did she get around a toxin?_

"What're you getting at? Are you trying to tell me she can't be saved?"

"No no, nothing like that; we're not the city's number one hospital for no reason. It just means that we have to alter our approach—Pam can't go home anytime soon. We'll have her moved to ICU and set up in a room. I'll have to keep monitoring her condition."

_Anytime soon?_ The words punched Ava in the gut—Pam _was_ her Gotham, her family. She helped her navigate the streets and learn the city that was starting to feel like home. To be without her was to be without light in an endless night—lost. A sharp tug of sadness reared at the thought of losing her best friend, but Ava stuffed it down and concentrated on Doctor Taylor. If she'd been able to work magic with defibrillator paddles, with any luck she'd be able to cure Pam.

"Okay," breathed Ava, straightening her clothes and composing herself. Though frazzled, she calmed at the sight of Doctor Taylor. She seemed so sure, so strong—something Ava would have to be for Pam. "Okay. What can I do?"

"Get some rest. You've been here since one, and it shows. The best thing you can do is be strong her, and you've done that—you're here. But now, it's time to go home and take care of yourself. I'll call you tomorrow when she's more stable." Ava nodded and stared at the ECG monitor.

_Tomorrow._ That would be a task unto itself. For now, she'd put all her energy into getting home in one piece before another crisis broke. Taking her jacket off the uncomfortable vinyl chair, Ava moved aside as another group of nurses moved Pam to ICU. Cheery colored scrubs and plaintive smiles, they had Pam's monitors and IV's removed before Ava could protest. One by one, the machines were carted out of the room, down a bright-lit hallway and into a service elevator.

Pam was stirring again, and Ava's heart leapt a little. She practically shoved the nurses who were moving her bed and beamed at the sick redhead.

"Mel?" Ava could hear the nurses calling her away from the bed, but Doctor Taylor stopped them. She glanced over her shoulder and offered her a silent 'thank you'; the doctor gave a soft smirk.

Pam grunted in pain and slowly opened her eyes—they were completely bloodshot. But what caught Ava's attention was their vibrancy. Pam's eyes had always been green, but never like this. These were so vivid they bordered on neon; Ava was taken aback, but her assuring smile never wavered.

"Hey," croaked Pam, feebly squeezing her hand. Ava almost broke down right there, but held it back; there'd be time for that later. Now, she needed to be strong.

"You okay?" Instantly, Ava scolded herself for her stupidity. Her best friend was laid out on a hospital bed after being poisoned. Of _course_ she's not okay. Pam tried to laugh, but it manifested as a strained cough. The nurses closed in again—Doctor Taylor stopped them.

"Yeah," she mumbled, a hint of laughter on her brow. Ava brushed the stray hair red hairs from Pam's hot face and nodded.

"Good. I'll be back tomorrow. Hurry up and get better, alright?"

The nurses footsteps were closer this time, and Ava stepped away willingly. It'd been so hard for her not to ask Pam the twenty questions she desperately wanted to. _Who did this? Where were you? What's their address?_ After they rolled a semiconscious Pam out of the ER, Ava left the room alongside Doctor Taylor. _Tomorrow._

The doctor tried to make small talk, but it registered as broken chatter in her mind. Ava did her best not to seem rude, offering half-hearted replies at the proper times. At the bustling, overly-decorated entrance, Ava looked at the sky. It was still dark, but hints of the day ahead showed on the horizon. Wayne Tower and the antiquated buildings of the old University filled her sights, further reminding her that she was on her own in the city.

"Thank you, Doctor," said Ava, leaving the kind woman behind in the foyer.

Doctor Taylor waved politely, and shouted out after a retreating Ava. "She's going to be fine, you know."

Ava gave her a grateful smile and left the hospital, running down the stairs and hailing a stray taxi. Getting in, she closed the door and rested her head against the car seat. A deep, quivering breath spilled from her mouth and she let few tears fall. Exhaustion was finally catching up, and she earnestly wished to be home. The fleeting night fell over her with sudden heaviness, forcing a cry from her throat.

Too many thoughts crowded her mind, each demanding her full attention, but she only voiced the darkest one.

"I'm going to kill whoever did this."


	11. Strangers in the Dark

Harvey squinted and scowled. His phone was vibrating, clattering against his bedside table.

 _Who could be calling this early?_ Sighing, he threw the covers off of his arm and reached for it.

"Hello?" he answered, slightly slurred. Honestly, the phone call wasn't an unwelcome distraction. He'd barely gotten four hours of sleep, and spent most of the night wriggling out of Rachel's strong latch on his waist. This was his fifth day at her flat, and it was beginning to take its toll. He had purplish bags under his dulling grey eyes and couldn't seem to put his mind at ease; Ava hadn't called him since their last fight.

"Good morning, Sunshine. You wouldn't believe who's at my front door." The voice was Gordon's, and he sounded uncharacteristically chipper; Harvey grunted.

_This can't be good…_

"Surprise me."

"It's Lau. Batman dropped him off last night at the precinct. How soon can you get here?"

Yesterday, he called Ava, insisted that they work things out. She sent him a one word message: _Busy._ She'd evaded him for the last few days, but it didn't feel right. Usually her anger passed in a day and they'd talk it out. Now, she didn't even bother to text. Rachel's blue eyes fluttered open, and she gave Harvey a sleepy smile—he wanted to pull the sheets over his head and go back to sleep.

Rubbing his eyes, he ignored a stirring Rachel and crossly answered.

"By eight."

Sure, it was two hours from now and he could be at GCPD in twenty minutes, but he needed _some_ sleep before tackling an interrogation. He could hear an audible sigh from Gordon; the Lieutenant was not happy. But then again, when was he?

"Can't you come in sooner? Lau's going to be the mob's biggest target and if—"

"Enough," said Harvey, sleep fully gone from his voice; only impatience remained. "You wanted my help and you'll get it on my terms. By eight o'clock, Rachel and I will be at the office. You've got a whole squad of police officers—use them."

Gordon argued back, but Harvey was in no mood to hear it. He was at once worried, exhausted and frustrated—there was no time for the lieutenant's demands. "Do you really think I've got an army of idle officers waiting on my every command? Do you think I want to protect an international criminal from Gotham's worst—"

Harvey clicked end button on his phone and lied back down. _He'll just have to wait._

"Who was that?" It was Rachel, and she'd climbed on top of him, resting her head on his chest. Her cheek was clammy and he wanted to shove her away in disgust. _That's not your spot_. Not to him, anyway. It belonged to Ava, and the fact that Rachel had become increasingly physical was enough to make him gag. Before, she was colder than a frigid Gotham night—she considered time with him a chore. Now, she hugged, kissed, and touched him at every opportunity—it was odd.

"Gordon; they found Lau."

"Really?" The question caught him off guard. Rachel was curious by nature, but this came off as an accusation.

"Yeah. Who else would it be?"

"I don't know," replied Rachel, planting a kiss on his cheek and whispering in his ear. "You've been preoccupied the last few days. Anything special caught your attention?"

Harvey's stomach sank a bit as he caught the subtle implication. _She can't know…she couldn't possibly know._ He'd been discreet, especially when he spent the night.

"No," he growled, attempting to brush her off; Rachel pulled him close to her and stared into his face. He sighed and put on yet another mask—the caring boyfriend. He forced himself to soften, forced love to his eyes, aided by thoughts of Ava. It wasn't something he'd been keen to before, but he really did care for her—even more now that she refused to call him.

_Was she okay? Did she feel the same?_

He didn't know, and it didn't matter right now—he needed to pull this off, at least until the election was over. Then he'd have freedom to do whatever he pleased.

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Harvey? You'd tell me if something was wrong?" Both questions cut like knives.

 _Lie?_ he snorted silently. The premise of their relationship was a lie. They told everyone they met in Major Crimes, but that wasn't the truth. He'd made a bad decision one drunken night and slept with her at a Gotham Lawyers Association gala. He was twenty four and impetuous; she was sly and ambitious. Not outwardly, of course—no one could accuse Rachel of corruption. But when he got transferred to Major Crimes, she flirted relentlessly, convinced him that they could be a dynamic duo. Harvey resisted at first, but the prospect of a relationship rooted in a common cause won out.

They conquered the world, winning cases and locking up criminals. But there was no tenderness in Rachel's eyes—she could've just as easily been his co-worker instead of his girlfriend. Soon, it became a matter of convenience for them, and physical contact just a spoil of war. Harvey never felt warm when he ran his hands through her hair or kissed her, just obligation.

Only now, as he lay chained to a woman he never truly felt for, did he realize a fact that annoyed, frightened, and excited him—he was in love. Warped, but love all the same.

"Of course I would. There's nothing for you to worry about."

And it had nothing to do with Rachel Dawes.

She studied him, pierced him with her icy blues. She stroked his blonde hair and ran a hand across his cheek. He kept his sights locked on the girl with black hair and hazel eyes and a curious smirk— _his_ girl. With eyes on her, he tuned Rachel's scrutiny out and feigned emotion for the ADA.

"I believe you," murmured Rachel after an eternity. The words were hollow, and Harvey heard the distrust in her voice. "Because I _trust_ you."

 _As far as you can see me,_ thought Harvey, finishing her sentence; it was written all over her face.

"And I you, Rach." He kissed her lips, remnants of red lipstick staining his mouth. Pulling the covers off of them, he spoke. "As much as I'd love to stay in bed with you, we have be at Gordon's by eight. He's going to need you for interrogation, and God knows how long that could take."

Rachel nodded and hopped from the bed, smoothed her hair and searched through her monochrome wardrobe for an outfit. Harvey went to the dresser, pulling out a spare pair of boxers from the bottom drawer and taking his backup suit from the closet.

It was quiet as they got ready; Harvey passed a dressing Rachel with a quiet 'excuse me'. They ate cereal silently, and Harvey wondered, as he pushed mushy cheerios around his bowl, if she'd heard the " _crack"_ too—he was sure she had. He knew because she barely said a word to him since the questions, barely attempted any of her useless morning chatter. She didn't try to kiss him when he passed her in the bathroom; she didn't give him a second glance when they sat down for breakfast. Her brown hair so perfectly pinned and mouth screwed tight, she had to have heard it.

It was deafening; it was noiseless. It was the sweet sound of broken bones.

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

 "Gin!" declared Ava triumphantly. She slapped her cards face-up on blue tilt top table, sticking her tongue out at the pouting ginger.

"Impossible! We just started!" whined Pam, brow furrowed as she looked at the winning hand—five, six and seven of hearts—it was legit. Ava laughed as Pam folded, tossing the cards to the middle of the bed. "Fine, you win. But shame on you for beating a poor sick girl…"

 _It's good to see her smile,_ thought Ava. It had been a week and half since Pam first entered the hospital, and after three or four touch-and-go days, she finally was recovering. According to Doctor Taylor, all of her tests were good, but there was still a twinge of worry in her words. Ava dismissed it and put her full trust in the blonde doctor—she hadn't let her down yet.

"Poor?" asked Ava, putting the deck of cards back in their box. "You don't look too 'poor' to me!"

That wasn't far from the truth. After what Doctor Taylor had told her, Ava expected Pam to be haggard and pale, not vibrant and upbeat. Her eyes were still too-lime green, her hair was redder than it'd ever been—her skin seemed to… _glow_. The doctor was at a loss for an explanation. This _poison_ —whatever it was—was supposed to be crippling, almost fatal. _Hell, they still haven't figured out what it is._

Yet, Pam was resilient—for that Ava was overjoyed. For a while, Pam had consistent fits. Some were momentary convulsions that passed in the blink of an eye; others sent her heart racing and lasted for minutes on end. In either case, they were terrifying. _Happy those are over._

"Yeah well, I am," replied Pam, reaching for her lunch tray—salad and some jello. "At least until they let me out of this place. Doc _still_ says I'm not clear to go home, Aves."

"That'll change soon, Mel. Hell, two days ago you could hardly walk and now look at you! It's a little scary, actually…" reassured Ava, slapping her friend's shoulder. "At this rate, you'll be out of here in no time."

"In time for the fundraiser?"

"Mel," sighed Ava. She didn't want to think about the fundraiser right now—it was all Pam had talked about since she told her about it. Granted, it was a big event for both of them—Ava wanted to be there for Harvey and Pam wanted to scope out the infamous Bruce Wayne. But Ava knew Pam; she'd push herself way too hard to feign 'all better'. "Don't worry about that. It's just a party. Concentrate on getting better instead of getting _lucky,_ would ya?"

It was Pam's turn to laugh. Her chest shook, and her face turned red. Her ridiculous face combined with the tinny sound of her laugh got to Ava. Both of them were giggling and couldn't stop until Doctor Taylor walked in and cleared her throat.

"I trust you're doing okay this morning, Pam?" said the doctor, raising a brow; Ava and Pam immediately calmed down, clutching their stomachs and catching their breaths.

"I'm fine, Doc," answered Pam through a pant. "How 'bout you? You look a little glum."

Doctor Taylor answered back just as cheekily. "Well, I stayed up til three last night finishing up some paperwork, but beyond that I'm just dandy. Sorry to interrupt your laughing session, but I need to borrow Ava for a moment."

"Why do you need her? _I'm_ the sick one, remember?" joked Pam, brushing a fiery lock from her eye.

"I'll be right back," said Ava, rising from her seat and walking to the door. "Work on your card skills while I'm gone."

 _Uh oh,_ was the only thing Ava could think of as she waited for Doctor Taylor to close the room door. She'd kept Ava abreast of any developments or changes to Pam's condition, but always while Pam was asleep—it was easier that way. They'd tried when Pam was awake, but all she wanted to know was when she'd get out. Under any other circumstances it'd be a valid question; but Ava knew Pam. She swallowed every pill she was given, ate every ounce of terrible hospital fare and barely protested when a nurse told her to retire at eight thirty.

The Pam Ava knew would have fought tooth-and-nail for autonomy. She would've told the nurses to shove it, just like she did when she went to the doctor's with all those bruises from 'falling'; she would've kicked and screamed until they let her be, or at least stopped trying to make small talk. But she was oddly pleasant, going so far as talking to an older nurse about her little cabin up north—a topic so dull even Ava wanted to yank her hair out.

Frankly, it was frightening.

There was urgency to the question, a consuming to desire to complete a mission that no one but her knew about. _She's got something up her sleeve._

And Ava was determined to figure it out before Pam did something drastic.

The last few bouts of news from Doctor Taylor had been okay—Pam's vitals were good, her neurological functions were above average (they always had been), and she was on her way to a speedy recovery. Yet after all this time, she was unable to tell Ava what exactly the toxin was, or what treatment was being administered.

That all changed as Doctor Landry Taylor addressed Ava with grim blue eyes. Ava gulped and braced herself, praying it was something mundane.

No one answered her prayer.

"It's getting worse."

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

 " _Come to us,"_ whispered a potted red chrysanthemum. It was blooming; Pam could tell because the voice was slight, like a tinkling bell or a soft chime—only young plants sounded so quiet. _"He's here."_  


She wasn't startled or scared. Plants had been speaking to her for a while now, ever since that dream.

Sure, it was terrifying at first. After all, it's not every day the vase of dying 'Get Well' roses start talking to you. But she'd gotten used to it and somehow it seemed natural. The plant-woman who'd almost killed her now spoke to her on a daily basis. She murmured quietly all day, reminding Pam that she was there, that she'd _always_ been there. And the more Pam listened to her, the more she believed it.

" _Mother."_ It was barely audible, and Pam was unsure she said it; but she had. Did she really acknowledge this woman…this _thing_ as her mother? She almost shrieked in horror at the realization—she had. Pam couldn't deny it—the plant-woman sounded exactly like her; same slightly hoarse hum, same rich timbre.

 _Nature?_ _Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England._ She didn't believe it at first. There was no way a plant could talk to her; in no way was this mysterious mother-ghost real. She was only hallucinating and needed to go back to sleep. It'd all be gone then.

But it wasn't. She could hear the strangled cries of tulips as their stems were crushed in the grip of some father on the way to the maternity ward; she listened to the shivering autumn leaves as they were ripped from their branches. More than that, she could _feel_ it. Stronger, emboldened, and curious, Pam began to answer the voices.

If she concentrated, Pam could hear specific plants instead of one mass cry. Silent, she began with the roses at her bedside. The suffering buds begged for water and Pam answered, telling them to hold tight until a nurse came. When one did, she made sure she was on her best behavior and asked for water for her roses; they willingly gave her as much as she wanted. Strengthened, she began practicing on other plants in the hospital. She'd take 'naps', and drain her mind of every concern. As her thoughts fled and theirs came, she climbed every green vine they gave her. Conversations with no words, she became a caretaker to them.

Make sure the sunflowers in room 824 were okay; soothe the jumpy daisies in 307. Under it all, she was encouraged by the plant-woman's voice. _"Keep at it my child."_

She did. And though she'd made enormous strides in her week at the hospital, Pam was unable to call plants outside the building—so one called her.

" _Who's there?"_ she sought, pressing her nails into her palm until they formed half-moons. She knew exactly who they referred to, but it seemed like a stretch. Jason's apartment was on the West Side of Gotham, thousands of vine channels away from room 237. The voice was hazy at best, but Pam poured all her energy into hearing it. If they _were_ talking about Jason, the headache she got after talking to plants for too long would be well worth it.

" _Don't' toy with us, sister,"_ scolded the mums. _"The one who did this to you. He is here with us."_

" _Where?"_

" _Do not ask for what you cannot handle,"_ responded the flowers testily. Pam was impressed—mums were never this feisty. " _Mother has allowed us to tell you of his location. Rest, and when the time is right, we will lead you to your prize."_

As quickly as the vine had been given to her, it was snatched away. Pam woke from her trance and looked out the hallway window—Ava and Doctor Taylor were still chatting outside; a wily smile spanned her jade-hued lips. Until now, she'd been unable to talk with plants unless she was asleep. But this little exercise proved it—she was getting stronger. And when she got out, she knew _just_ who to visit.

 _I can't wait to get my hands on him_.

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

 "Are you threatening my client?" defended a snide attorney. Harvey couldn't remember his name—Williams was it? _Doesn't matter. They're all the same._ The stiff wasn't mob-sent—Harvey knew all their lawyers on sight and smell; the bastards reeked of overpriced cologne and freshly stolen bills. No, this guy was better. He didn't know when to fold like they did, and it was making Rachel's job harder. She didn't know which buttons to press, what his soft spot was; it made Harvey smile.

_Serves her right._ Rachel always had this strut about her when she entered interrogation, like nothing could stop her from getting what she wanted out of the sorry loser. Hair pinned back, mouth screwed tight—she was a classic. Hips swaying all too much, she oozed deadly confidence, a sort of 'I will take you down' that dripped from her pointed words and struck wariness into the most hardened criminals.

The same strut she had now.

"Threatening? No. I'm just assuming your client's cooperation in this investigation," countered a confident Rachel.

He was a shark dressed in a red tie and stiff navy suit with his arm between Lau and Rachel, as if that would stop her from tearing the accountant to shreds. Harvey watched the scene through thick-paned glass and couldn't help but scoff. This wasn't an interrogation, not a true search for the truth—it was a business meeting. Lau wouldn't say a word unless he was promised immunity or at least no jail time; Rachel would have to fold. Harvey pressed his hands into the window ledge, arms taut and eyes low.

 _It's disgusting._ His jaw tensed, and he was silent; Harvey was never silent during an interrogation. He always had some input in the process—a loophole that could lead to a deal, a track of questioning that'd give the prosecution the information they needed. It often drove Gordon mad, and the weathered Lieutenant usually had to hiss several 'shut ups' at the overeager prosecutor. Today, Harvey Dent had lost his patience and it showed. He was silent as the grave, not even offering the lieutenant some stale coffee from the bullpen. In fact, Harvey hadn't spoken one word—not even when Gordon asked him about his night.

"You okay, Dent?" asked the mustached man, thick black glasses hiding his tired brown eyes. "You're quiet…"

 _Okay?_ fumed Harvey noiselessly. _That's one word for it._ Vexed, nauseated, fed up? Those were probably more accurate. He wasn't sure why—maybe because Rachel was taking too long to go for the kill; maybe because his thoughts kept drifting to the one-damned-word message in his inbox—' _Busy'._ All he knew was that Gordon was asking questions and today was _not_ the day.

"Considering Rachel's taking forever to wrap up this sham of an interrogation and you've stared at me for the last hour like I've got the plague? Yeah, I'm peachy, Gordon," snapped Harvey, training his stony grey eyes on the police lieutenant. "How about you? How're Barbara and the kids?"

Gordon didn't flinch at Harvey's icy words. He shrugged, took a sip from his mug and answered: "They're good. Jimmy wants a new bike for his birthday."

"Glad to hear it," replied Harvey with a scowl.

Gordon sighed audibly, and turned to fully face the future D.A. Harvey glared from the corner of his eye and remained silent, fully prepared to ignore any other useless inquiries the detective might have for him. _Just let it go, Gordon…_

"Look," started Gordon; the voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Harvey, and he tensed. "I don't know what's wrong with you. Maybe you had a bad night with Rachel; maybe you didn't get enough sleep. Frankly Dent, I don't care—hell, my nights are just as bad as yours, if not worse. My only concern is that you're lucid, so take your head out of the clouds, will ya?"

Harvey bristled. _Lucid?_ _What am I, a mental patient?_ For all the good he'd done with GCPD, all the mistakes he'd patched up for Gordon, he had the audacity to scold him like he was a little child?"I'm not the one with my head in the clouds." The jab was barely audible, just as Harvey intended. He hoped it would silence Gordon, but the older man continued to antagonize him.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means _,_ " gritted Harvey. "That you're the one with the problem, Gordon. Look at this! There's no interrogation here—Lau's not going to give us anything useful."

"You doubt Rachel?" asked Gordon, bushy brows raised.

"I doubt the _system,_ "corrected Harvey, calming slightly. _No use creating problems where there aren't any._ The last thing Harvey needed was Gordon asking Rachel about their relationship issues. "There's nothing just about this. He'll walk, and the mob will be just fine."

"Then that proves you haven't been listening, Dent. Rachel's cornered him—he just offered us the mob on a silver platter."

"What could he possibly have on all of them?" demanded Harvey, skeptical, but interested. If Lau was telling the truth, he could bring the whole thing to trial by tomorrow afternoon. There weren't a lot of judges who'd hear a mass trial, and even fewer who weren't under the mob's thumb—Hoff, Robins, O'Toole, to name a few; but there was one. She was always complaining about the corruption of Gotham's bar—here was her chance to do something about it. _Time to shine, Surrillo. Hope you're ready._

"Where the hell have you been, Harvey? He just said it—their investments. He claims he's got all of 'em tied up somewhere, and—"

"The Rico Case! If we can charge one—" jumped Harvey, mood lighter. _Why hadn't I thought of that sooner?_

"We can charge them all. That's brilliant," finished Rachel, already sauntering back to the room with the one-sided mirror. _Of course it is._ When the case went up for arraignment, this would go one of two ways and neither panned out well for the future D.A. If Surrillo approved of the arrest, Rachel would bask in the limelight and credit Harvey with none of the conviction. But if by some happy 'coincidence' he and the ADA got a mob judge, she'd spin it as Harvey's idea and feed him to the lions.

 _Either way, I'm screwed,_ he ruminated, brow furrowing again. He quickly masked it and watched as blow by blow, Rachel hammered the nails into Lau's coffin. Gordon watched in amazement as she broke the resolve of Williams, then Lau.

"I want immunity," pled the pathetic 'businessman'. _Even I could've done a better job hiding their money_ , mocked Harvey silently. Lau had taken the business sector of Gotham by storm, buying corporations like a kid buys candy. The only thing more conspicuous would've been a Mobster parade with him on a float with Maroni and The Chechen that said 'I'm up to no good'. Then he tries to cover it up by allying with Wayne? The billionaire was smug, not stupid; he knew bad news when he saw it, and even _he_ refused to deal with the ambitious banker. Combined with the records GCPD pulled on his previous affiliations, Lau's every move had been tracked.

There was no reason to grant him _anything,_ much less immunity.

"After you testify. Until then you'll be put in County."

" _After you testify?_ " laughed Harvey mirthlessly. "She doesn't have to give him anything. He lied to our faces, and we've got dirt on him dating to last year."

"Yeah, but you don't want an angry Chinese president knocking on our door. Diplomacy, Harvey—we can't forget it."

 _Diplomacy?_ They were letting this conniving idiot walk and covering their ass in the process. _They can justify all they want, there's no way around it._

"No way. You can't put me in county."

Rachel looked to the mirror and perceived the invisible nod from Gordon. She couldn't see Harvey's sneer, but she must've felt it. Her eyes narrowed, and she stared back just as coldly as he did.

"Fine; you'll stay in Major Crimes until trial."

And so it was settled.

The meeting finished with mutually agreeable results; Rachel and Gordon discussed the interrogation and how lucky they'd gotten. They thanked Harvey for his contribution; ' _we couldn't have done it without you'._ He didn't say a word; didn't blink when Rachel took his arm; didn't crack a smile when Esther, the old clerk, commented on how cute he and Rachel looked. He didn't speak for the duration of that day, but he was churning on the inside.

Harvey was never one to brood or suppress a thought—if he had something to say, he did.

But this couldn't be put into words. It clawed at his nerves, manifested as short words with Rachel or an argument with Gordon—his mind only told him to get away from them. _Fast,_ before he snapped entirely. So he excused himself, ignored the shrill protests of Rachel and stern words of Gordon, and got in the car. Speeding off, he felt the frenzying anger subside and could focus once more.

 _Someone else can cover me today._ He hadn't taken time off in months, and given his performance today, he needed one. Planning his route, he stopped at his own apartment. It took him a few tries, but Harvey finally found the correct key and jammed it into the lock, twisting it this way and that until the door begrudgingly opened. He pushed through the entry, then threw his suit jacket and loosened tie on the white living room couch. It'd been almost three weeks since he'd slept at in his own home—he was always at Ava or Rachel's place.

Hastily, he threw on a pair of jeans, a white shirt and a pair of brown loafers. Raiding the scantily-stocked fridge for something edible, he grabbed an old slice of pizza and put on a jacket. His feet couldn't move fast enough as he peeled down the stairs and hopped back in the car. Mind racing, Harvey thought about calling her, but decided on a surprise visit.

"If you can't come to me," he muttered, setting a course for University Row. "I'll come to you."

* * *

**-X-**

* * *

 

 The parking garage was dark and abandoned—the perfect place for a drop. A set of squinting black eyes combed the darkness and checked the time on his broken Peregeaux watch. He chuckled. It was funny really; he'd _procured_ the timepiece from an old watch salesman on the Lower East side, but he didn't need it. Time was of no consequence to him—it didn't exist; only clocks did, reminding people of the silly schedules they kept, the appointments that they thought constituted their lives. Still, he kept it. The face was broken, and the irony made him laugh.

"Get it?" he blurted, catching the men off guard. Some were startled; some were curious, and one was rapt. "A broken watch?" _Perfect—_ he now knew who to test; their reactions made it all too easy. The dry silence in the cab made him roll his eyes and turn in his seat.

"Tough crowd."

His men were in the vehicle, each armed to the teeth. They weren't there to guard Joker. _Crane isn't that stupid._ The fallen psychiatrist had no interest in territorial expansion or controlling any of Gotham's underbelly. He was a dealer, a supplier of goods—they went to the highest bidder and he never took sides. The clown prince toyed with the blade in his pocket. _But if he does…_

There were thirty of them now, but he took the six most intriguing to accompany him. The _new_ Chuckles and Bozo; Ryan (a new guy; he was quiet, but his anger held promise), Sleepy, Parker and some schizo named Schiff.

He needed something to keep his attention while he waited. What better than observation?

He had a vague idea of who he trusted (if you could call it that). Sleepy survived his first trials, but there was no _glint_ in his eye, no indication that he was as off-kilter as he acted. Chuckles and Bozo were interesting enough—both fought in a bare knuckle boxing match until their eyes were swollen shut. Amused, Joker recruited both of them. Parker said little, but always had weapons on hand; Joker found him at Arkham. An admirer of Victor Zsaz, the man had scarred pink tally marks on his arms. So far, he'd killed ten men.

The painted man looked at Schiff and grinned. _The best of them all._ He ate Joker's words like candy, never questioning what he said, no matter how twisted or irrational it was.

A white van pulled alongside their black one and stopped. Crane hopped out, dressed in his usual sweater, jacket and bowtie. _What a stiff,_ thought Joker, tongue darting across his lips. He'd dealt with Crane a few times before and the guy had absolutely no sense of humor. That could've been because Joker killed two of his Arkham colleagues— _maybe._ But he suspected the guy spent too much time in the textbooks and not enough on the streets, honing his carving skills on the usual scumbags.

The fallen doctor held the black briefcase in his hand and stared into the van, beckoning with his blue eyes for someone to make the deal. Joker turned back around and looked at his men. "Who wants to go get our goody bag?" No one answered, and they all looked anywhere but at him. "Let's not all jump at once, kids," he growled. Tutting, he shook his head wildly, and pushed a green lock of hair from his eyes. _Really? I'll just have to make this a little more fun._

"Eeny meeny minie moe," he chanted, pointing at each of the men with his switchblade. A collective shudder went through theM, and they all gulped in fear; all except Schiff, who seemed just as giddy as Joker acted. "Catch a tiger by the toe." He was at Parker now, and the thug's grip on his gun tightened. "If he hollers let him go…"

"Eeny." _Bozo._

"Meeny." _Schiff._

"Minie." _Ryan._

"Moe." _Sleepy._

The rhyme picked Sleepy, and Joker smiled wide. **"** Sleepy, be a good boy and fetch me my slippers, would ya?" ordered Joker, his voice falsely chipper.

The thug stiffened, but grabbed the duffle of money and left the van, steps timid; Joker watched eagerly. He hadn't intended to choose Sleepy—sheer luck had done that for him. He now observed the man, and laughed at what he saw. He was no longer the raving lunatic he'd seen at tryouts. Now, he was reduced to a stumbling pile of shit that feigned loyalty whenever Joker held him at knifepoint. _That won't do at all…_ He needed true loonies, the kind that were in all the horror stories mommies told their kids before bed.

Crane regarded Sleepy with a sniff and kept a firm grip on the case. He looked past the henchman to the green-haired man in the driver's seat.

"Sending another man to do get _your_ package? Doesn't seem too professional to me…"

Joker's shoulder twitched, and his eyes narrowed to black-ringed slits. _Do I have to do everything myself?_ As it was, he'd already have to kill Sleepy. The man had no true gusto, and though he was named after a jester, Joker had no time for games. He chewed on his lip and shot a look of pure death to the men in the back. _You move, you die._ They all gave silent nods.

Annoyed, he hopped out the van and stalked toward the erudite Crane. He stopped at Sleepy, shot him a crooked grin and patted the cheek of his mask. "You failed me, Sleeps! I told ya to go get my present and you came back empty handed."

Sleepy said nothing, but Joker felt the slight quaking in his hands. "But I did everything you said. He wouldn't give me the package!" cried Sleepy, trying to reason with the most unreasonable man possible. _Excuses._ Joker licked his lips and waited for the henchman to offer another. "Sh," he said, placing a gloved hand to his red lips. "Crane just said he wouldn' _t_ give it to anyone bu _t_ me. I'm not gonna hurt you for tha _t_."

"Y-you're not?" Sleepy stuttered, eyes wide. The masked man relaxed and stood limp, as if some great weight had been taken from him. Joker heard Crane mumble _'Idiot,'_ under his breath and he shakes his head in almost-genuine happiness.

"No no no, I'm just going to—" Joker checks to make sure his knife at the ready; the trusty blade was in his hand, waiting for his signal. " _Kill_ you."

Before Sleepy could react, Joker had kicked out the thugs legs and held him by the hair. On his knees, Sleepy begged, his voice losing all traces of insanity and assuming the frail whine of a caged animal. "P-p-please, I didn't do nothin'! I'm still loyal!" he blubbered. Joker didn't budge, and peals of angry laughter filled the parking garage's 3rd floor. When Sleepy saw pity wasn't going to work, he tried a different tactic—one that Joker hadn't seen coming.

"Let me go you, psycho _freak_." The laughter came to a grinding halt, and Joker locked eyes with Sleepy.

"What did you call me?" He wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. _No one would be that stupid._

Defiant, Sleepy repeated the word, but never finished. "A _fre—_ "

Livid, Joker stepped on the heel of his right shoe and grinned as a blade deployed from the toes. He held Sleepy's head fast and brought the switchblade across his neck, laughing at the man's strangled cries. _Who's laughing now?_ His shoe's knife lodged in Sleepy's stomach several times in blind fury, and Joker could feel Crane cringe behind him. _A freak? I'll show you freak!_ The gurgling cries of the thug ceased, and Joker finally noticed that the man was bleeding out all over his new purple suit.

"Sleepy," he whined, wiping the blood on the henchman's coat. "You'll mess up my clothes!"

Sleepy dropped to the floor, still clinging to his dying spark; the man groaned feebly and coughed up blood. _Just die already,_ thought Joker. He hated it when victims held on for too long—it was distracting.

"Y'know, we should really get together for a date sometime," said Joker to Crane, voice giddy—his black eyes danced with the thrill of a fresh kill.

Crane's blue eyes were impassive.

"My appointment book's always open." His ghost-white hands entered the code on the briefcase lock and opened it. His expectant blue eyes darted to the black bag in Joker's hand.

 _This guy doesn't get fazed by anything…_ Most guys would've puked at the sight of a mangled clown on the floor, but Crane barely bat an eye. His only reaction to the situation was pride when he revealed the case's contents. Purple danced in his glasses' reflection, and Joker's lips tugged into a malicious crimson frown. _This better be good._

"I present to you," stated Crane while handing the open briefcase to his client. Joker took it with one arm and threw the duffle to the doctor. He stared at the case—twenty vials of purple toxin, housed in delicate glass syringes, stared back. "Pure fear in a vial—AAA grade, best of the best. It's a tasty little cocktail: a healthy shot of adrenaline cut with diethylamide for hallucinations, a little of my personal fear gas, and per your request, mauveine for that lovely shade of violet. I'll have you know, this wasn't an easy order. Had to pull strings with an old coworker to get the compounds from a student experiment without raising red flags…"

Joker rolled his eyes and tapped his foot as the doctor ranted ad infinitum about the product. _This is_ not _the time,_ he thought dangerously, fingering the blade in his pocket. Why doctors felt the need to lecture and make a grand show of their intelligence, he didn't know.

His shrinks in Arkham did the same thing.

" _Do you think murdering your father was the correct response to your mother's death? Oftentimes the brain uses revenge as a justification of—"_ Blah blah bullshit—they never stopped yapping until the hour was up. They didn't get it. He didn't murder his father because he felt compelled to. He did it because it was _fun._ _Fun_ to watch a man that had been drunk and high the majority of his life beg and plead _in the name of the Lord._ It was _fun_ to see a man try and cover his sins with ' _I'm your father'_ excuse, as if that made a difference. _It's all a big game._ There was no good, no evil, only high stakes and low stakes; he'd just placed a big bet.

All he needed were a few more wins, and he'd be a big enough threat to catch Batsy's attention. He'd just gotten his next chip and knew _just_ what to do with it.

_Let's see whose big blind wins out…_

The annoyance must've shown on his face because Crane stopped abruptly and stooped to count the money in the duffle. Joker shook his hair out, clicked the case shut and walked back to the van, not waiting until the doctor had finished. He was sure he'd put enough of Maroni's money in there for Crane to finance whatever _endeavors_ he intended to embark on. He opened the back door, shoved the case into Parker's hands and yanked open the driver's side, suddenly antsy to leave.

"Wait!" cried Crane. Joker glared at him from corner of his eye. "There's too much in here."

Joker bored his black eyes into Crane and smacked his lips.

"Consider it my holding fee."


End file.
